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July to December, 1895. 

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J^n Illustrated Jffonthty 



Vol. X. 


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(Illustrations from Photographs, and from Drawings by A. J. Johnson.) 

ANIMAL ACTOR, AN : An Interview with Mr. Charles Lauri, By HARRY How 
(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

BLACK DIAMOND, A. By Marianne Kent 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs by F. Hollyer.) 


(Illustrations from Old Prints.) 

(Illustrations by C. J. Stan I land.) 

CENTENARIANS. By Netta Esplin Cargili 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

CHILDREN'S FAIRY, THE. From the French cf Saint-Juirs 
(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

(Illustrations from Old Prints and Pictures.) 

CRIPPLE AT THE MILL, THE. By Max Pemberton ... 
(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 


.. 728 
.. 781 

.. 786 

.. 542 







I.— The Veiled Idol of Kor ... 112 

II. — The Wizard of Swazi Swamp ... 123 

III. —The Hidden Fgyptian Shield 267 

IV.— The Dervish of the Nile Pyramid 438 

V.— The Lost Fetish of Walai 483 

VL— The Great Dial of the Gold-Finders 7#6 

(Illustrations by ALFRED Pearse.) 

DIARY OF A DOCTOR, STORIES FROM THE (Second Series). By L. T. Meade and 

Clifford Halifax, M.D. 

VII.— A Doctor's Dilemma 80 

VIII.— On a Charge of Forgery 145 

IX.— The Strange Case of Captain Gascoigne 290 

X.— With the Eternal Fires " 3/6 

XL— The Small House on Steven's Heath 512 

XII.— "To Everyone His Own Fear" 681 

(Illustrations by Gordon Browne, R.B.A.) 

DIVERS AND THEIR WORK. By Framley Steelcroft 392 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Old Prints.) 

DOLL'S HOSPITAL, A DAY IN A. By Harry How 633 

[Illustrations by MacNeil Barbour.) 





DONKEY'S DAIRY, IN THE. By Framlry Steblcroft 329 

{Illustrations from Photographs, and from Drawings by A, J. Johnson.) 

DOROTHEAS KISS. By Minnie Mortimer 222 

(Illustrations by A. Pearse.) 


( Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

EXPERIENCE, AN. From the French of F. SouliS. By Alys Hallard \ 363 

(Illustrations by PAUL HARDY.) 


(Illustrations by H. R. Millar.) 


IV.— How the Brigadier Came to the Castle of Gloom 3 

V,— How the Brigadier Took the Field Against the Marshal Millefleurs 201 

VI.— How the Brigadier was Tempted by the Devil 335 

VII.— How the Brigadier Played for a Kingdom 603 

(Illustrations by W. B. Wollbn, R.I.) 

EXPRESS OF THE FUTURE, AN. From the French of Jules Verne 638 

(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 


X.— An Old Crab and a Young 120 

XL— The Result of Going to Law 232 

XIL— The Hermit and the Bear 349 

XIII.— The Lion and the Hare 472 

XIV.— The Little Dog 584 

XV.— The Old Man and His Donkey 796 

(Illustrations by J. A. Shepherd.) 

FORTY-EIGHT C48). By H. Herman Chilton 500 

(Illustrations by J. L. Wimbush.) 


(Illustrations from Photographs by James Lradbbater*) 

GHOST STORY, A TRUE. By the Counte9S of Munster 

(Illustrations by Miss Florence K. Upton.) 


(Illustrations from Facsimiles. ) 


(Illustrations by A. J. Johnson.) 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 
HERO, A. From the Italian of E. de Am icis. By Alys Hallard 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 
HYMNS, SOME NOTABLE.— II. By Francis Arthur Jones 

(Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimil.*.) 


XLIL— Mr. W. G. Grace, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. 
(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

XLIIL— The New Romeo and Juliet. I.— Romeo : Mr. J. Forbes Robertson. 

Harry How. II.— Juliet: Mrs. Patrick Campbell. By M. Griffith 

(Illustrations from Photographs and from Pictures by Mr. Forbes Robertson.) 
XLI V.— Rear-Admiral Markham, R.N., F.R.G.S. By William G. FitzGerald ... 
(Illustrations from Photographs and Facsimiles.) 

XLV.— Captain P. N. McGikfin, R.N. By Alfred T. Story 

(Illustrations from Drawings by A. J. Johnson, and from Photographs.) 

IN THE TULES. By Bret H arte 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 

(Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 
ci it » From the German of A. Baron Von Roberts 
' (Illustrations by Paul Hardy.) 


Original from 






... 252 

... 548 

... 616 

- 753 

... 625 

.1. 560 


INDEX. 803 



(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 

LEPERS' GUEST, THE. By Max Pemberton ... 654 

(Illustrations by Sidney Paget.) 


(Illustrations from Paintings, Drawings, and Old Prints.) 

LOST PROPERTY OFFICE, THE. By William G. FitzGerald 641 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 


( Written and Illustrated by R. II. Cocks.) 

MODERN KNIGHT ERRANTRY. By Bkysson Cunningham 424 

(Illustrations by Max Cow per.) 


(Illustrations by Max Cowper.) 

M. P. 's AS ARTISTS. By William G. FitzGerald 281,409 

(Illustrations from Photographs, Paintings, and Sketches. ) 

NAMING THE BABY. By Edward Salmon 697 

(Illustrations from Old Prints and Drawings.) 

NAPOLEON, THE SIGNATURES OF. By J. Holt Schooling 527 

(Illustrations from Paintings and Facsimiles. ) 

NEW BROOM, THE. By H. D. Lowry 403 

(Illustrations by W. Christian Symons.) 

NEWS SUPPLY, THE ROMANCE OF OUR. By William G. FitzGerald 69 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

NOTABLE FAMILIES. I.— The Gladstone Family. By Albert H. Broadwell 215 

(Illustrations from Photographs. ) 


(Written and Illustrated by J. Holt Schooling.) 


Allingham, Mrs. Helen 175 

Arnold, Sir Arthur 172 

Barnes, Mr. Justice 305 

Bourchier, Mr. Arthur 458 

Cambridge, H.R.H. the Duke of ... 173 

Curzon, The Hon. G. N. 306 

Detaille, M. Edouard 308 

Dunraven, The Earl ok 68 

Faurb, M. Felix 174 

Ford, Onslow, R.A 666 

Gladstone, Mr. Herbert 66 

Hawke, Lord 65 

J ebb, Professor, M.P 457 

Lind, Miss Letty 307 

Majendie, Col. Sir Vivian 540 

Millet, Miss Maude 541 

Prior, Mr. Melton 460 

Ridley, Sir Matthew White 667 

Rogers, The Rev. Guinness 665 

Terriss, Miss Ellaline 668 

Vanbrugh, Miss Violet 459 

Wenlock, Lord 539 

Winchester, The Bishop of 538 

Yohe, Miss May 67 


(Illustrations from Photographs by Miss Warren and Messrs. Bassano.) 

PUNCH AND JUDY. By Alfred T. Story 461 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

QUEEN'S SECRET, THE. By Mrs. Skey 56 

(Illustrations by II. R. Millar.) 


I.— The Disadvantages of Mind 595 

II. — Abraham Fleeter's Weariness ... • 774 

(Written and Illustrated 'by J. F. Sullivan.) 

RINGFALLA BRIDGE : A Fairy Talk. By K. E. Sutter 590 

(Illustrations by H. R. MILLAR.) 


(Uhist rations from Facsimiles.) 


by OOOQle 



SKA-SERPENT, THE. By Au red T. Story 161 

{Illustrations from Sketches, Prints, and Photographs.) 


(Written a..U Illustrated by James Scott.) 


(Illustrations by F. C. (loULD.) 

SPRING -TIDE OF LOVE, THE. A Siory for Children. By Plrydbll North (Mrs. 

Ec.erton Eastwick) 355 

(Illustrations by If. R. Millar.) 


(I limitations by Paul Hardy.) 


( Written and Illustrated by James Scon.) 

STREET TOYS. By Ernest C. Finc ham 765 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

THREE VALLEYS, THE. A Story for Children. From the German 236 

(Illustrations by II. K. Mll.LAR.) 

UNDERSTUDY, THE. By Robert Barr 736 

(Illustrations by J. Finnemore, R.B.A.) 


(Drawn by Louis Wain.) 

WAR-BALLOONING. By Charles Knight 309 

(Illustrations from Photographs.) 

WEDDING CAKES, SOME REMARKABLE. By Framley Steelcroft 104 

(Illustrations from Drawing and Photographs.) 


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The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard. 

By A- Con an Doyle. 

OU do very well, my friends, 
to treat me with some little 
reverence, for in honouring me 
you are honouring both France 
and yourselves, It is not 
merely an old, grey-moustached 
officer whom you see eating his omelette or 
draining his glass, but it is a piece of history, 
and of the most 

glorious history ^ 

which our own 
or any country 
has ever had. In 
me you see one 
of the last of 
those wonderful 
men, the men 
who were vete- 
rans when they 
were yet boys, 
who learned to 
use a sword 
earlier than a 
razor, and who 
during a hun- 
dred battles had 
never once let 
the enemy see 
the colour of 
their knapsacks, 
For twenty years 
we were teaching 
Europe how to 
fight, and even 
when they had 
learned their 
lesson it was 
only the ther- 
mometer, and 
never the bayo- 
net, which could 
break the Grand 
Army down, 

Berlin, Naples, Vienna, Madrid, Lisbon, 
Moscow — we stabled our horses in them 
all. Yes, my friends, I say again that you 
do well to send your children to me with 
flowers, for these ears have heard the trumpet 
calls of France, and these eyes have seen her 
standards in lands where they may never be 
seen again. 

Even now, when I doze in my arm-chair, I 
can see those great warriors stream before me 
— the green - jacketed chasseurs, the giant 


cuirassiers, P on ia tow sky's lancers, the white- 
mantled dragoons, the nodding bearskins of 
the horse grenadiers. And then there comes 
the thick, low rattle of the drums, and through 
wreaths of dust and smoke I see the line of 
high bonnets, the row of brown faces, the 
swing and toss of the long, red plumes amid 
the sloping lines of steel. And there rides 

Ney with his 
red head, and 
L'efebvre with 
his bulldog jaw, 
and Lannes with 
his Gascon swag- 
ger ; and then 
amidst the gleam 
of brass and the 
flaunting fea- 
thers I catch a 
glimpse of Aim, 
the man with the 
pale smile, the 
rounded shoul- 
ders, and the far- 
off eyes. There 
is an end of my 
sleep, my friends, 
for up I spring 
from my chair, 
with a cracked 
voice calling and 
a silly hand out- 
stretched, so that 
Madame Titaux 
has one more 
laugh at the old 
fellow who lives 
among the 

Although I 
was a full Chief 
of Brigade when 
the wars came 
to an end, and had every hope of soon 
being made a General of Division, it is 
still rather to my earlier days that I turn 
when I wish to talk of the glories and the 
trials of a soldier's life* For you will under- 
stand that when an officer has so many 
men and horses under him, he has his mind 
full of recruits and remounts, fodder and 
farriers, and quarters, so that even when he is 
not in the face of the enemy, life is a very 
serious matter fov him. But when he is only 



a lieutenant or a captain, he has nothing 
heavier than his epaulettes upon his shoulders, 
so that he can clink his spurs and swing his 
dolman, drain his glass and kiss his girl, 
thinking of nothing save of enjoying a gallant 
life. That is the time when he is likely to 
have adventures, and it is most often to that 
time that I shall turn in the stories which 
I may have for you. So it will be to-night 
when I tell you of my visit to the Castle of 
Gloom ; of the strange mission of Sub- 
Lieutenant Duroc, and of the horrible affair 
of the man who was once known as Jean 
Carabin, and afterwards as the Baron 

You must know, then, that in the February 
of 1807, immediately after the taking of 
Danzig, Major Legendre and I were com- 
missioned to bring four hundred remounts 
from Prussia into Eastern Poland. 

The hard weather, and especially the great 
battle at Eylau, had killed so many of the 
horses that there was some danger of our 
beautiful Tenth of Hussars becoming a 
battalion of light infantry. We knew, there- 
fore, both the Major and I, that we should 
be very welcome at the front. We did not 
advance very rapidly, however, for the snow 
was deep, the roads detectable, and we had 
but twenty returning invalids to assist us. 
Besides, it is impossible, when you have a 
daily change of forage, and sometimes none 
at all, to move horses faster than a walk. I 
am aware that in the story-books the cavalry 
whirls past at the maddest of gallops; 
but for my own part, after twelve campaigns, 
I should be very satisfied to know that my 
brigade could always walk upon the march 
and trot in the presence of the enemy. 
This I say of the hussars and chasseurs, 
mark you, so that it is far more the case with 
cuirassiers or dragoons. 

For myself I am fond of horses, and to 
have four hundred of them, of every age and 
shade and character, all under my own hands, 
was a very great pleasure to me. They were 
from Pomerania for the most part, though 
some were from Normandy and some from 
Alsace, and it amused us to notice that they 
differed in character as much as the people 
of those provinces. We observed also, what 
I have often proved since, that the nature of 
a horse can be told by his colour, from the 
coquettish light bay full of fancies and nerves, 
to the hardy chestnut, and from the docile 
roan to the pig-headed rusty-black. All this 
has nothing in the world to do with my story, 
but how is an officer of cavalry to get on with 
bis tale when he finds four hundred horses 

waiting for him at the outset? It is my 
habit, you see, to talk of that which interests 
myself, and so I hope that I may interest 

We crossed the Vistula opposite Marien- 
werder, and had got as far as Riesenberg, 
when Major Legendre came into my room in 
the post-house with an open paper in his 

"You are to leave me," said he, with 
despair upon his face. 

It was no very great grief to me to do 
that, for he was, if I may say so, hardly 
worthy to have such a subaltern. I saluted, 
however, in silence. 

" It is an order from General Lasalle," he 
continued ; " you are to proceed to Rossel 
instantly, and to report yourself at the head- 
quarters of the regiment." 

No message could have pleased me better. 
I was already very well thought of by my 
superior officers, although I may say that 
none of them had quite done me justice. It 
was evident to me, therefore, that this sudden 
order meant that the regiment was about to 
see service once more, and that Lasalle 
understood how incomplete my squadron 
would be without me. It is true that it 
came at an inconvenient moment, for the 
keeper of the post-house had a daughter — one 
of those ivory-skinned, black-haired Polish 
girls — whom I had hoped to have some 
further talk with. Still, it is not for the pawn 
to argue when the fingers of the player move 
him from the square; so down I went, 
saddled my big black charger, Rataplan, and 
set off instantly upon my lonely journey. 

My word, it was a treat for those poor 
Poles and Jews, who have so little to brighten 
their dull lives, to see such a picture as that 
before their doors. The frosty morning air 
made Rataplan's great black limbs and 
the beautiful curves of his back and 
sides gleam and shimmer with every gam- 
bade. As for me, the rattle of hoofs upon 
a road, and the jingle of bridle chains which 
comes with every toss of a saucy head, would 
even now set my blood dancing ^through my 
veins. You may think, then, how I carried 
myself in my five-and-twentieth year — I, 
Etienne Gerard, the picked horseman and 
surest blade in the ten regiments of hussars. 
Blue was our colour in the Tenth — a sky-blue 
dolman and pelisse with a scarlet front— 
and it was said of us in the army that we 
could set a whole population running, the 
women towards us, and the men away. 
There were bright; eyes in the Riesenberg 

windows that mornine, which seemed to beg 

m y t Hon T f Jr mlt nltj.^jT * 


me to tarry ; but what can a soldier do t save 
to kiss his hand and shake his bridle as he 
rides upon his way ? 

It was a bleak season to ride through the 
poorest and ugliest country in Europe, but 
there was a cloudless sky above, and a bright, 
cold sun, which shimmered on the huge snow- 
fields. My breath reeked into the frosty atr, 
and Rataplan sent up two feathers of steam 
from his nostrils, while the icicles drooped 
from the side-irons of his bit. I let him trot 
to warm his limbs, while for my own part I 
had too much to think of to give much heed 
to the cold. To north and south stretched the 
great plains, mottled over with dark clumps 
of fir and lighter patches of larch, A few 
cottages peeped out here and there, but it 
was only three months since the Grand Army 
had passed that way, and you know what 
that meant to a country. The Poles were 
our friends, it was truc> but out of a hundred 
thousand men, only the Guard had waggons, 
and the rest bad to live 
as best they might It 
did not surprise me, 
therefore, to see no 
signs of cattle and no 
smoke from the silent 
houses. A weal had 


been left across the country where the great 
host had passed, and it was said that even 
the rats were starved wherever the Emperor 
had led his men. 

By midday I had got as far as the village 
of Saalfeldt, but as I was on the direct road 
for Ost erode, where the Emperor was winter- 
ing, and also for the main camp of the 
seven divisions of infantry, the highway 
was choked with carriages and carts. What 
with artillery caissons and waggons and 
couriers, and the ever-thickening stream 
of recruits and stragglers, it seemed to me 
that it would be a very long time before I 
should join my comrades. The plains, how- 
ever, were five feet deep in snow, so there 
was nothing for it but to plod upon our way* 
It was with joy, therefore, that I found a 
second road which branched away from the 
other, trending through a fir-wood towards the 
north. There was a small auberge at the 
cross-roads, and a patrol of the Third Hussars 
of Conflans — the very regi- 
ment of which I was after- 
wards colonel— were mounting 
their horses at the door. On 
the steps stood their officer, a 
slight, pale young man, who 
looked more like a young 
priest from a seminary than a 
leader of the devil-may-care 
rascals before him, 

"Good day, sir," said 
he, seeing that I pulled 
up my horse* 

" Good - day," I an- 
swered* "lam Lieutenant 
Etienne Gerard, of the 

I could see by his face 
that he had heard of me. 
Everybody bad heard of 
me since my duel with 
the six fencing-masters. 
My manner, however, 
served to put him at his 
ease with me. 

" I am Sub- Lieutenant 
Duroc, of the Third," 
said he, 

" Newly joined ? " I 

" Last week." 
I had thought as much, 
from his white face and 
from the way in which he 
let his men lounge upon 
their horses. It was not 
so Imijg; however, since I 



had learned myself what it was like when a 
schoolboy has to give orders to veteran 
troopers. It made me blush, I remember, 
to shout abrupt commands to men who had 
seen more battles than I had years, and it 
would have come more natural for me to 
say, " With your permission, we shall now 
wheel into line," or, " If you think it best, 
we shall trot." I did not think the less of 
the lad, therefore, when I observed that his 
men were somewhat out of hand, but I gave 
them a glance which stiffened them in their 

" May I ask, monsieur, whether you are 
going by this northern road ? " I asked. 

" My orders are to patrol it as far as 
Arensdorf," said he. 

" Then I will, with your permission, ride so 
far with you," said I. " It is very clear that 
the longer way will be the faster." 

So it proved, for this road led away from 
the army into a country which was given over 
to Cossacks and marauders, and it was as 
bare as the other was crowded. Duroc and 
I rode in front, with our six troopers clattering 
in the rear. He was a good boy, this Duroc, 
with his head full of the nonsense that they 
teach at St Cyr, knowing more about Alex- 
ander and Pompey than how to mix a horse's 
fodder or care for a horse's feet Still, he 
was, as I have said, a good boy, unspoiled as 
yet by the camp. It pleased me to hear him 
prattle away about his sister Marie and about 
his mother in Amiens. Presently we found 
ourselves at the village of Hayenau. Duroc 
rode up to the post-house and asked to see 
the master. 

" Can you tell me," said he, " whether the 
man who calls himself the Baron Straubenthal 
lives in these parts ? " 

The postmaster shook his head, and we 
rode upon our way. 

I took no notice of this, but when, at the 
next village, my comrade repeated the same 
question, with the same result, I could not 
help asking him who this Baron Straubenthal 
might be. 

" He is a man," said Duroc, with a sudden 
flush upon his boyish face, " to whom I have 
a very important message to convey." 

Well, this was not satisfactory, but there 
was something in my companion's manner 
which told me that any further questioning 
would be distasteful to him. I said nothing 
more, therefore, but Duroc would still ask 
every peasant whom we met whether he 
could give him any news of the Baron Strau- 

For my own part I was endeavouring, as 

an officer of light cavalry should, to form an 
idea of the lay of the country, to note the 
course of the streams, and to mark the places 
where there should be fords. Every step 
was taking us farther from the camp round 
the flanks of which we were travelling. Far 
to the south a few plumes of grey smoke in 
the frosty air marked the position of some 
of our outposts. To the north, however, 
there was nothing between ourselves and the 
Russian winter quarters. Twice on the 
extreme horizon I caught a glimpse of the 
glitter of steel, and pointed it out to my 
companion. « It was too distant for us to tell 
whence it came, but we had little doubt that 
it was from the lance-heads of marauding 

The sun was just setting when we rode 
over a low hill and saw a small village upon 
our right, and on our left a high black 
castle, which jutted out from amongst the 
pine-woods. A farmer with his cart was 
approaching us — a matted-haired, downcast 
fellow, in a sheepskin jacket 

" What village is this ? " asked Duroc. 

"It is Arensdorf," he answered, in his 
barbarous German dialect 

11 Then here I am to stay the night," said 
my young companion. Then, turning to the 
farmer, he asked his eternal question, " Can 
you tell me where the Baron Straubenthal 

"Why, it is he who owns the Castle of 
Gloom," said the farmer, pointing to the dark 
turrets over the distant fir forest 

Duroc gave a shout like the sportsman 
who sees his game rising in front of him. 
The lad seemed to have gone off his head — 
his eyes shining, his face deathly white, and 
such a grim set about his mouth as made the 
farmer shrink away from him. I can see him 
now, leaning forward on his brown horse, 
with his eager gaze fixed upon the great black 

" Why do you call it the Castle of 
Gloom?" I asked. 

"Well, it's the name it bears upon the 
country side," said the farmer. "By all 
accounts there have been some black doings 
up yonder. It's not for nothing that the 
wickedest man in Poland has been living 
there these fourteen years past" 

" A Polish nobleman ? " I asked. 

" Nay, we breed no such men in Poland," 
he answered. 

" A Frenchman, then ? " cried Duroc. 

" They say that he came from France." 

"And with red hair?" 



"Yes, yes, it is my man," cried my com- 
panion, quivering all over in his excitement. 
il It is the hand of Providence which has led 
me here. Who can say that there is not 
justice in this world ? Come, Monsieur 
Gerard, for I must see the men safely quar- 
tered before I can attend to this private 

He spurred on his horse, and ten minutes 
later we were at the door of the inn of 
Arensdorf, where his men were to find their 
quarters for the night 

Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I 
could not imagine what the meaning of it 
might be, Rossel was still far off, but I 
determined to ride on for a few hours and 
take my chance of some wayside barn in 
which I could find shelter for Rataplan and 
myself I had mounted my horse, therefore, 
after tossing off a cup of wine, when young 
Duroc came running out of the door and 
laid his hand upon my knee, 


€t Monsieur Gerard," he panted, " I beg of 
you not to abandon me like this ! " 

11 My good sir," said I, il if you would tell 
me what is the matter and what you would 
wish me to do, I should be better able to 
tell you if I could be of any assistance to 

" You can be of the very greatest/' he cried. 
tl Indeed, from all that I have heard of you, 
Monsieur Gerard, you are the one man whom 
I should wish to have by my side to-night" 

" You forget that I am riding to join my 

*' You cannot, in any case, reach it to-night 
To-morrow will bring you to Rossel* By 
staying with me you will confer the very 
greatest kindness upon me, and you will aid 
me in a matter which concerns my own 
honour and the honour of my family. I am 
compelled, however, to confess to you that 
some personal danger may possibly be 

It was a crafty thing for him to say. 
Of course, I sprang from Rataplan's back 
and ordered the groom to lead him back 
into the stables. 

"Come into the inn," said I, "and 
let me know exactly what it is that you 
wish me to do." 

He led the way into a sitting-room, 
and fastened the door lest we should be 
interrupted. He was a well-grown lad, 
and as he stood in the glare of the lamp, 
with the light beating upon his earnest 
face and upon his uniform of silver grey, 
which suited him to a marvel, I felt my 
heart warm towards him. Without going 
so far as to say that he carried himself 
as I had done at his age, there was at 
least similarity enough to make me feel 
in sympathy with him* 

41 1 can explain it all in a few words," 
said he. (i If I have not already satisfied 
your very natural curiosity^ it is because 
the subject is so painful a one to me 
that I can hardly bring myself to allude 
to it. I cannot, however, ask for your 
assistance without explaining to you 
exactly how the matter lies. 

" You must know, then, that my 
father was the well - known banker, 
Christophe Duroc, who was murdered 
by the people during the September 
massacres, As you are aware, the 
mob took possession of the prisons, 
chose three so-called judges to pass sen- 
tence upon the unhappy aristocrats, and 
then tore them to pieces when they were 

\smmw dpftiflfi^r My father 



had been a benefactor of the poor all 
his life. There were many to plead for 
him. He had the fever, too, and was 
carried in, half-dead, upon a blanket. Two 
of the judges were in favour of acquitting 
him; the third, a young Jacobin, whose 
huge body and brutal mind had made him a 
leader among these wretches, dragged him, 
with his own hands, from the litter, kicked 
him again and again with his heavy boots, 
and hurled him out of the door, where in an 
instant he was torn limb from limb under 
circumstances which are too horrible for me 
to describe. This, as you perceive, was 
murder, even under their own unlawful laws, 
for two of their own judges had pronounced 
in my father's favour. 

" Well, when the days of order came back 
again, my elder brother began to make 
inquiries about this man. I was only a child 
then, but it was a family matter, and it was 
discussed in my presence. The fellow's 
name was Carabin. He was one of San- 
sterre's Guard, and a noted duellist A 
foreign lady named the Baroness Strau- 
benthal having been dragged before the 
Jacobins, he had gained her liberty for her on 
the promise that she with her money and 
estates should be his. He had married her, 
taken her name and title, and escaped out. of 
France at the time of the fall of Robespierre. 
What had become of him we had no means 
of learning. 

" You will think, doubtless, that it would be 
easy for us to find him, since we had both 
his name and his title. You must remember, 
however, that the Revolution left us without 
money, and that without money such a search 
is very difficult. Then came the Empire, and 
it became more difficult still, for, as you are 
aware, the Emperor considered that the 18th 
Brumaire brought all accounts to a settle- 
ment, and that on that day a veil had been 
drawn across the past. None the less, we kept 
our own family story and our own family plans. 

" My brother joined the army, and passed 
with it through all Southern Europe, asking 
everywhere for the Baron Straubenthal. 
Last October he was killed at Jena, with his 
mission still unfulfilled. Then it became my 
turn, and I have the good fortune to hear of the 
very man of whom I am in search at one of 
the first Polish villages which I have to visit, 
and within a fortnight of joining my regiment. 
And then, to make the matter even better, I 
find myself in the company of one whose 
name is never mentioned throughout the 
army save in connection with some daring 
and generous deed." 


This was all very well, and I listened to it 
with the greatest interest, but I was none the 
clearer as to what young Duroc wished me 
to do. 

" How can I be of service to you ? " I 

" By coming up with me." 

"To the Castle?" 

" Precisely." 


" At once." 

" But what do you intend to do ? " 

"I shall know what to do. But I wish 
you to be with me, all the same." 

Well, it was never in my nature to refuse 
an adventure, and, besides, I had every 
sympathy with the lad's feelings. It is very 
well to forgive one's enemies, but one wishes 
to give them something to forgive also. I 
held out my hand to him, therefore. 

" I must be on my way for Rossel to- 
morrow morning, but to-night I am yours," 
said I. 

We left our troopers in snug quarters, and, 
as it was but a mile to the Casde, we did not 
disturb our horses. To tell the truth, I hate 
to see a cavalry man walk, and I hold that 
just as he is the most gallant thing upon 
earth when he has his saddle-flaps between 
his knees, so he is the most clumsy when he 
has to loop up his sabre and his sabre-tasche 
in one hand and turn in his toes for fear of 
catching the rowels of his spurs. Still, Duroc 
and I were of the age when one can carry 
things off, and I dare swear that no woman 
at least would have quarrelled with the 
appearance of the two young hussars, one in 
blue and one in grey, who set out that night 
from the Arensdorf post-house. We both 
carried our swords, and for my own part 
I slipped a pistol from my holster into 
the inside of my pelisse, for it seemed to 
me that there might be some wild work 
before us. 

The track which led to the Castle wound 
through a pitch-black fir- wood, where we 
could see nothing save the ragged patch 
of stars above our head. Presently, however, 
it opened up, and there was the Castle right 
in front of us, about as far as a carbine would 
carry. It was a huge, uncouth place, and bore 
every mark of being exceedingly old, with 
turrets at every corner, and a square keep on 
the side which was nearest to us. In all its 
great shadow there was no sign of light save 
for a single window, and no sound came from 
it. To me there was something awful in its 
size and its silence, which corresponded so 
well with its sinister name. My companion 



pressed on eagerly, and I followed him along 
the ilbkept path vhich led to the gate. 

There was no bell or knocker upon the 
great, iron -studded door T and it was only by 
poinding with the hilts of our sabres that 
we could attract at tendon, A thin, hawk- 
faced man, with a beard up to his temples, 
opened it at last- He carried a lantern in one 
hand, and in the other a chain which held 
an enormous black hound. His manner at 
the first moment was threatening, but the 
sight of our uniforms and of our faces turned 
it into one of sulky reserve. 

"The Baron Straubenthal does not receive 
visitors at so late an hour/ 1 said lie, speaking 
in very excellent French. 

H You can inform liaron Straubenthal that 
I have come eight hundred leagues to see 
him, and that I will not leave until I have 
done so/' said my companion. I could not 
myself have said it with a better voice and 

The fellow took a sidelong look at us, and 
tugged at his black beard in his perplexity. 

h£ To tell the truth, gentlemen," said he, 
u the Baron has a cup or two of wine in him 
at this hour, and you would certainly find 
him a more entertaining companion if you 
were to come again in the morn- 

He had opened the door a 
little wider as he spoke, and I 
saw by the light of the lamp in 
the hall behind him that three 
other rough fellows were stand- 
ing there, one of whom held 
another of these monstrous 
hounds, Duroc must have seen 
it also, but it made no difference 
to his resolution, 

" Enough talk/' said he, push- 
ing the man to one side, l4 Tt Is 
with vour master that I have to 

The fellows in the hall made 
way for him as he strode in 
among them, so great is the 
power of one man who knows 
what he wants over several who 
are not sure of themselves, My 
companion tapped one of them 
upon the shoulder with as much 
assurance as though he owned 

"Show me to the Baron/' 
said he. 

The man shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and answered something 
in Polish. The 

the beard, who bad shut and barred the 
front floor, appeared to be the only one 
among them who could speak French, 

11 U ell, you shall have your way," said he, 
with a sinister smile. 4i You shall see the 
Baron. And perhaps, before you have 
finished, you will wish that you had taken 
my advice," 

We followed him down the hall, which 
was stone-flagged and very spacious, with 
skins scattered upon the floor, and the heads 
of wild beasts upon the walls. At the 
farther end he threw open a door, and we 

It was a small room, scantily furnished, 
with the same marks of neglect and decay 
which met us at every turn. The walls were 
hung with discoloured tapestry, which had 
come loose at one comer, so as to expose 
the rough stonework behind. A second 
door, hung with a curtain, faced us upon 
the other side. Between lay a square table, 
strewn with dirty dishes and the sordid 
remains of a meal. Several bottles were 
scattered over it. At the head of it, and 
facing us, there sat a huge man, with a lion- 
like head and a great shock of orange- 
coloured hair. His beard was of the same 


Vol. x - 2. 

fellow with 


JS GwJ£tilulfliQ^ MAN," 




glaring hue ; matted and tangled and coarse 
as a horse's mane. I have seen some strange 
faces in my time, but never one more 
brutal than that, with its small, vicious, blue 
eyes, its white, crumpled cheeks, and the 
thick, hanging lip which protruded over his 
monstrous beard. His head swayed about 
on his shoulders, and he looked at us with 
the vague, dim gaze of a drunken man. Vet 
he was not so drunk but that our uniforms 
carried their message to him. 

" U'ell, my brave boys," he hiccoughed, 
lt What is the latest news from Paris, eh ? 
YouVe going to free Poland, I hear, and 
have meantime all become slaves your- 
selves — slaves to a little aristocrat with 
his grey coat and his three-cornered hat 
No more citizens either, I am told, and 
nothing but monsieur and madame. My 
faith, some more heads will have to roll 
into the sawdust basket some of these 

Duroc advanced in silence, and stood 
by the ruffian's side. 

"Jean Carabin/' said he. 

The Baron started, and the film of 
drunkenness seemed to be clearing from 
his eyes. 

"Jean Carabin," said Duroc, once 

He sat up and grasped the arms of 
his chair. 

fcl What do you mean by repeating that 
name, young man? 7T he asked. 

t( Jean Carabin, you area man whom 
I have long wished to meet/' 

" Supposing that I once had such a 
name, how can it concern you* since you 
must have been a child when I bore it ? ' 

" My name is Duroc."' 

" Not the son of ? " 

"The son of the man you murdered." 

The Baron tried to laugh, but there 
was terror in his eyes, 

"We must let bygones be bygones, 
young man, 7 ' he cried. " It was our life or 
theirs in those days : the aristocrats or the 
people, Your father was of the Gironde. 
He fell. I was of the mountain. Most of 
my comrades fell. It was all the lot tune 
of war. We must forget nil this and learn 
to know each other better, you and 1." 
He heid out a red, twitching hand as he 

"Enough," said young Duroc, Mf I 
were to pass my sabre through you as you 
sit in that chair, I should do what is just 
and right. I dishonour my blade by crossing 
it with yjurs And yet you are a French- 

man, and have even held a commission under 
the same flag as myself. Rise, then, and 
defend yourself ! " 

"Tut, tut ! " cried the Baron. " It is all 
very well for you young bloods " 

Duroc/s patience could stand no more. 
He swung his open hand into the centre of 
the great orange beard. I saw a lip fringed 
with blood, and two glaring blue eyes above 

"You shall die f>r that blow." 

"That is better/' said Duroc. 

11 My sabre ! i7 cried the other ; " I will not 

"Dtiftftc's rATlBitce COVLD sr.\Mi w> more*"" 

keep you waiting, I promise you ! and he 
hurried from the room. 

I hive said that there was a second door 
covered with a curtain. Hardly had the 
Baron vanished when there ran from behind 
it a woman, young and beautiful. So swiftly 
and noiselessly did she move that she was 
between us in an instant, and it was only the 
shaking curtains which told us whence she 
had come, 

i4 I have seen it all," she cried, +i Oh, 
sir, vou h:lv (5 r jfflR^|^ r ^p|V rse ^ splendidly," 

she st ffiwefii9i i firaffltSas hand ' and 



kissed it again and again ere he could disen- 
gage it from her grasp. 

44 Nay, madame, why should you kiss my 
hand ? " he cried. 

44 Because it is the hand which struck him 
on his vile, lying mouth. Because it may be 
the hand which will avenge my mother. I 
am his step-daughter. The woman whose 
heart he broke was my mother. I loathe 
him, I fear him. Ah, there is his step ! " 
In an instant she had vanished as suddenly 
as she had come. A moment later, the 
Baron entered with a drawn sword in his 
hand, and the fellow who had admitted us at 
his heels. 

44 This is my secretary/' said he. 4l He 
will be my friend in this affair. But we shall 
need more elbow-room than we can find 
here. Perhaps you will kindly come with 
me to a more spacious apartment." 

It was evidently impossible to fight in a 
chamber which was blocked by a great table. 
We followed him out, therefore, into the 
dimly-lit hall. At the farther end a light 
was shining through an open door. 

44 We shall find what we want in here," 
said the man with the dark beard. It was a 
large, empty room, with rows of barrels and 
cases round the walls. A strong lamp stood 
upon a shelf in the corner. The floor was 
level and true, so that no swordsman could 
ask for more. Duroc drew his sabre and 
sprang into it. The Baron stood back with 
a bow and motioned me to follow my com- 
panion. Hardly were my heels over the 
threshold when the heavy door crashed 
behind us and the key screamed in the lock. 
We were taken in a trap. 

For a moment we could not realize it. 
Such incredible baseness was outside all 
our experiences. Then, as we understood 
how foolish we had been to trust for an 
instant a man with such a history, a flush of 
rage came over us, rage against his villainy 
and against our own stupidity. We rushed 
at the door together, beating it with our fists 
and kicking with our heavy boots. The 
sound of our blows and of our execrations 
must have resounded through the Castle. We 
called to this villain, hurling at him every 
name which might pierce even into his 
hardened soul. But the door was enormous 
— such a door as one finds in mediae val~ 
castles — made of huge beams clamped to- 
gether with iron. It was as easy to break as 
a square of the Old Guard. And our cries 
appeared to be of as little avail as our blows, 
for they only brought for answer the clatter- 
ing echoes from the high roof above us. 

When you have done some soldiering, you 
soon learn to put up with what cannot be 
altered. It was I, then, who first recovered 
my calmness, and prevailed upon Duroc to 
join with me in examining the apartment 
which had become our dungeon. 

There was only one window, which had no 
giass in it and was so narrow that one could 
not so much as get one's head through. It 
was high up, and Duroc had to stand upon a 
barrel in order to see from it. 

44 What can you see?" I asked. 

44 Fir-woods, and an avenue of snow between 
them," said he. 44 Ah ! " he gave a cry of 

I sprang upon the barrel beside him. There 
was, as he said, a long, clear strip of snow in 
front. A man was riding down it, flogging 
his horse and galloping like a madman. As 
we watched, he grew smaller and smaller, 
until he was swallowed up by the black 
shadows of the forest 

44 What does that mean ? " asked Duroc. 

44 No good for us," said I. 4< He may have 
gone for some brigands to cut our throats. 
Let us see if we cannot find a way out of this 
mouse-trap before the cat can arrive." 

The one piece of good fortune in our 
favour was that beautiful lamp. It was nearly 
full of oil, and would last us until morning. 
In the dark our situation would have been 
far more difficult. By its light we proceeded 
to examine the packages and cases which 
lined the walls. In some places there was 
only a single line of them, while in one corner 
they were piled nearly to the ceiling. It 
seemed that we were in the storehouse of the 
Castle, for there were a great number of 
cheeses, vegetables of various kinds, bins 
full of dried fruits, and a Kne of wine 
barrels. One of these had a spigot in it, 
and as I had eaten little during the day, I 
was glad of a cup of claret and some food. 
As to Duroc, he would take nothing, but 
paced up and down the room in a fever of 
anger and impatience. " Til have him yet ! " 
he cried, every now and then. 44 The rascal 
shall not escape me ! " 

This was all very well, but it seemed 
to me, as I sat on' a great round 
cheese eating my supper, that this 
youngster was thinking rather too much of 
his own family affairs and too little of the 
fine scrape into which he had got me. 
After all, his father had been dead fourteen 
years, and nothing could set that right ; 
but here was Etienne Gerard, the most 
dashing lieutenant \r\ the whole Grand Army, 
in imminent danger of being cut off at the 



very outset of his brilliant career. Who was 
ever to know the heights to which I might 
have risen if I were knocked on the head in 
this hole-and-corner business, which had 
nothing whatever to do with France or the 
Emperor ? I could not help thinking what a 
fool I had been, when I had a fine war before 
me and everything which a man could desire, 
to go off upon a hare-brained expedition of 
this sort, as if it were not enough to have a 
quarter of a million Russians to fight against, 
without plunging into all sorts of private 
quarrels as well. 

"That is all very well," I said at last, as I 
heard Duroc muttering his threats. " You 
may do what you like to him when you get 
the upper hand. At present the question 
rather is, what is he going to do to us ? " 

" Let him do his worst ! " cried the boy. 
11 1 owe a duty to my father." 

"That is mere foolishness," said I. "If 
you owe a duty to your father, I owe one; to 
my mother, which is to get out of this busi- 
ness safe and sound." 

My remark brought him to his senses. 

" I have thought too much of myself! " he 
cried. " Forgive me, Monsieur Gerard. 
Give me your advice as to what I should 

" Well," said I, " it is not for our health 
that they have shut us up here among the 
cheeses. They mean to make an end of us 
if they can. That is certain. They hope 
that no one knows that we have come here, 
and that none will trace us if we remain. 
Do your hussars know where you have gone 

"I said nothing." 

" Hum ! It is clear that we cannot be 
starved here. They must come to us if they 
are to kill us. Behind a barricade of barrels 
we could hold our own against the five 
rascals whom we have seen. That is, pro- 
bably, why they have sent that messenger for 

" We must get out before he returns." 

" Precisely, if we are to get out at all." 

" Could we not burn down this door ? " he 

" Nothing could be easier," said I. " There 
are several casks of oil in the corner. My 
only objection is that we should ourselves 
be nicely toasted, like two little oyster 

"Can you not suggest something?" he 
cried, in despair. " Ah, what is that ? " 

There had been a low sound at our little 
window, and a shadow came between the 
stars mid ourselves. A small, white hand was 

stretched into the lamplight. Something 
glittered between the fingers. 

" Quick ! quick ! " cried a woman's voice. 

We were on the barrel in an instant. 

" They have sent for the Cossacks. Your 
lives are at stake. Ah, I am lost ! I am 
lost ! " 

There was the sound of rushing steps, a 
hoarse oath, a blow, and the stars were once 
more twinkling through the window. We 
stood helpless upon our barrel with our blood 
cold with horror. Half a minute afterwards 
we heard a smothered scream, ending in a 
choke. A great door slammed somewhere 
in the silent night. 

" Those ruffians have seized her. They 
will kill her," I cried. 

Duroc sprang down with the inarticulate 
shouts of one whose reason had left him. He 
struck the door so frantically with his naked 
hands that he left a blotch of blood with 
every blow. 

" Here is the key ! " I shouted, picking one 
from the floor. " She must have thrown it 
in at the instant that she was torn away." 

My companion snatched it from me with a 
shriek of joy. A moment later he dashed it 
down upon the boards. It was so small that 
it was lost in the enormous lock. Duroc 
sank upon one of the boxes with his head 
between his hands. He sobbed in his 
despair. I could have sobbed, too, when I 
thought of the woman and how helpless we 
were to save her. 

But I am not easily baffled. After all, this 
key must have been sent to us for a purpose. 
The lady could not bring us that of the door, 
because this murderous step-father of hers 
would most certainly have it in his pocket. 
Yet this other must have a meaning, or why 
should she risk her life to place it in our 
hands ? It would say little for our wits if 
we could not find out what that meaning 
might be. 

I set to work moving all the cases out from 
the wall, and Duroc, gaining new hope from 
my courage, helped me with all his strength. 
It was no light task, for many of them were 
large and heavy. On we went, working like 
maniacs, slinging barrels, cheeses, and boxes 
pell-mell into the middle of the room. At 
last there only remained one huge barrel of 
vodki, which stood in the corner. With our 
united strength we rolled it out, and there 
was a little low wooden door in the wainscot 
behind it. The key fitted, and with a cry of 
delight we saw it swing open before us. With 
the lamp in my hand, I squeezed my way in, 
followed by my companion, 




Wc were in the powder-magazine of the 
cattle— a rough, walled cellar, with barrels all 
round it, and one with the top staved in in 
the centre. The powder from it lay in a 
block heap upon the floor. Beyond there 
was another door, but it was locked. 

■ uf, wfhi" in the p^vvnri-r-u M:\7_i\tr of titr castik 

" We are no better off than before/' cried 
Puroc. " We have no key." 

" We have a dozen, 11 I cried, 


I pointed to the line of powder barrels. 

ih You would blow this door open ? ? 

" Precisely." 

l * But you would explode the magazine," 

It was true, but I was not at the end of 
my resources, 

" We will blow open the store-room door,"' 
I cried. 

I ran back and seized a tin box which had 
been filled with candles. It was about the 
size of my shako — large enough to hold 
several pounds of powder. Duroc filled it 
while I cut oft' the end of a candle. When 
^ve had finished, it would have puzzled a 
colonel of engineers to make a better 
petard. I put three cheeses on the top of 
each other and placed it above them, so as 
to lean against the lock- Then we lit our 

candle-end and ran for shelter, shutting the 
door of the magazine behind us. 

It is no joke, my friends, to lie among all 
those tons of powder, with the knowledge 
that if the flame of the explosion should 
penetrate through one thin door our blackened 

limbs would be 
shot higher than 
the Castle keep. 
Who could have 
believed that a 
half-inch of candle 
could take so long 
to hum? My ears 
were straining all 
the time for the 
thudding of the 
hoofs of the Cos- 
sacks who were 
coming to destroy 
us. 1 had almost 
made up my mind 
that the candle 
must have gone 
out when there 
was a smack like a 
bursting bomb, our 
door flew to bits, 
and pieces of 
cheese, with a 
shower of turnips, 
apples, and splin- 
ters of cases, were 
shot in among us. 
As we rushed out 
we had to stagger 
through an im- 
penetrable smoke, with all sorts of debris 
beneath our feet, but there was a glimmering 
square where the dark door had been. The 
petard had done its work. 

In fact, it had done more for us than we 
had even ventured to hope, It had shattered 
gaolers as well as gaoL The first thing that 
I saw as I came out into the hall wns a man 
with a butchers axe in his hand, lying flat 
upon his back, with a gaping wound across 
his forehead. The second was a huge dog, 
with two of its legs broken, twisting in 
agony upon the floor. As it raised itself up 
I saw the two broken ends flapping like flails, 
At the same instant I heard a cry, and there 
was Duroc, thrown against the wall, with the 
other hounds teeth in his throat. He pushed 
it off with his left hand, while again and 
again lie passed his sabre through its bodv, 
but it was not until I blew out its brains with 
my pistol that the iron jaws relaxed, and the 
fierce, bloodshoc , l4leI r ^K , e glazed in death. 



There was no time for us to pause. A 
woman's scream from in front —a scream of 
mortal terror — told us that even now we might 
be too late. There were two other men in 
the hall, but they cowered away from our 
drawn swords and furious faces. The blood 
was streaming from Duroc's neck and dyeing 
the grey fur of his pelisse. Such was the 
lad's fire, however, that he shot in front of 
me, and it was only over his shoulder that I 
caught a glimpse of the scene as we rushed 
into the chamber in which we had first seen 
the master of the Castle of Gloom. 

The Baron was standing in the middle of 
the room, with his tangled mane bristling like 
an angry lion. He was, as I have said, a 
huge man, with enormous shoulders ; and as 
he stood there, with his face flushed with rage 
and his sword advanced, I could not but think 
that, in spite of all his villainies, he had a 
proper figure for a grenadier. The lady lay 
cowering in a chair behind him. A weal 
across one of her white arms and a dog-whip 
upon the floor were enough to show that our 
escape had hardly been in time to save her 
from his brutality. He gave a howl like a 
wolf as we broke in, and was upon us in an 
instant, hacking and driving, with a curse at 
every blow. 

I have already said that the room gave no 
space for swordsmanship. My young com- 
panion was in front of me in the narrow 
passage between the table and the wall, so 
that I could only look on without being able 
to aid him. The lad knew something of his 
weapon, and was as fierce and active as a 
wild cat, but in so narrow a space the weight 
and strength of the giant gave him the 
advantage. Besides, he was an admirable 
swordsman. His parade and riposte were as 
quick as lightning. Twice he touched Duroc 
upon the shoulder, and then, as the lad 
slipped up on a lunge, he whirled up his sword 
to finish him before he could recover his 
feet. I was quicker than he, however, and 
took the cut upon the pommel of my sabre. 

" Excuse me," said I, " but you have still 
to deal with Etienne Gerard." 

He drew back and leaned against the 
tapestry-covered wall, breathing in little, hoarse 
gasps, for his foul living was against him. 

" Take your breath," said I. " I will await 
your convenience." 

"You have no cause of quarrel against 
me," he panted. 

" I owe you some little attention," said I, 
" for having shut me up in your store-room. 
Besides, if all other were wanting, I see cause 
enough upon that lady's arm." 

" Have your way, then ! " he snaiL'J, and 
leaped at me like a madman. For a minute 
I saw only the blazing blue eyes, and the red 
glazed point which stabbed and stabbed, 
rasping off to right or to left, and yet ever 
back at my throat and my breast I had 
never thought that such good sword -ptoy 
was to be found at Paris in the days 
of the Revolution. I do not suppose 
that in all my little affairs I have met six 
men who had a bettor knowledge of 
their weapon. But he knew that I was his 
master. He. read death in my eyes, and I 
could see that he read it. The flush died 
% from his face. His breath came in shorter 
and in thicker gasps. Vet he fought on, even 
after the final thrust had come, and died still 
'hacking and cursing, with foul cries upon his 
lips, and his blood clotting upon his orange 
beard. I who speak to you have seen so 
many battles, that my old memory can scarce 
contain their names, and yet of all the 
terrible sights which these eyes have rested 
upon, there is none which I care to think cf 
less than of that orange beard with the 
crimson stain in the centre, from which I had 
drawn my sword pdint. 

It was only afterwards that I had time to 
think of all this. His monstrous body had 
hardly crashed down upon the floor before 
the woman in the corner sprang to her feet, 
clapping her hands together and screaming 
out in her delight. For my part I was 
disgusted to see a woman take such delight 
in a deed of blood, and I gave no thought as 
to the terrible wrongs which must have 
befallen her before she could so far forget 
the gentleness of her sex. It was on my 
tongue to tell her sharply to be silent, when 
a strange, choking smell took the breath from 
my nostrils, and a sudden, yellow glare brought 
out the figures upon the faded hangings. 

" Duroc, Duroc ! " I shouted, tugging at his 
shoulder. 4< The Castle is on fire ! " 

The boy lay senseless upon the ground, 
exhausted by his wounds. I rushed out into 
the hall to see whence the danger came. It 
was our explosion which had set alight to the 
dry framework of the door. Inside the 
store-room some of the boxes were already 
blazing. I glanced in, and as I did so my 
blood was turned to water by the sight of the 
powder barrels beyond, and of the loose heap 
upon the floor. It might be seconds, it 
could not be more than minutes, before the 
flames would be at the edge of it. These 
eyes will be closed in death, my friends, 
before they cfcise to r^ those crawling lines 
of fire and the black heap beyond. 



How little I can remember what followed. 
Vaguely I can recall how I rushed intu the 
chamber of death, how I seized Duroc by 
one limp hand and draped him down the 
hall, the woman keeping pare with me and 
pulling at the other arm, Out of the gateway 
we rushed, and on down the snow-covered 
path until we were on the fringe of the fir 
forest It was at that moment that I heard 
a crash behind me t and, glancing round, saw 
a great spout of fire shoot up into the wintry 
sky. An instant later theie seemed to come 
a second crash far louder than the first. I 

told me how a piece of timber had struck 
me on the head and had laid me almost 
dead upon the ground. From him, too, I 
learned how the Polish girl had run to Arens- 
dorf, how she had roused our hussars, and 
how she had only just brought them back in 
time to save us from the spears of the Cos- 
sacks who had been summoned from their 
bivouac by that same black-bearded secretary 
whom we had seen galloping so swiftly 
over the snow, As to the brave lady 
who had twice saved our lives, I could 
not learn very much about her at that 

*** -^ 



SAW A imy\T SPfH'T Of FIRE sHikiT If. 

saw the fir trees and the stars whirling round 
me, and I fell unconscious across the body 
of my comrade. 

It was some weeks before I came to my- 
self in the post-house of Arensdorf, and 
longer still before I could be told all that had 
befallen me. It was Duroc, already able to 
go soldiering, who came to my bedside and 
gave me an account of it. lie it was who 

moment from Duroc, but when I chanced 
to met him in Paris two years later, 
after the campaign of Wagram, I was not 
very much surprised to find that I needed no 
introduction to his bride, and that by the 
queer turns of fortune he had himself, had 
he chosen to use it, that very name and title 
of the Karon Strau ben thai, which showed 
him to he the owner of the blackened ruins 
of the Castle of Gloom, 

by Google 

Original from 

Sir Edward Burnc-Jones, Bart. 

Bv L. T. Meade. 

from a Phata. by F. Htitlt&r. 

T is the fashion to speak of thy 
present day as realistic and 
prosaic. The spirit of mysti- 
cism and idealism is com- 
pletely out of date. We are a 
hard-headed, money-loving race 
now, and have little time for the gentle graces. 
We do not believe in legend or myth ; the 
days of chivalry and romance are over. 
Knights are nowhere to he found, and the 
poets have almost sunk into oblivion. We 
pride ourselves on this state of things, and 
believe that we see better and more clearly be 
cause the glamour is removed, and the morn- 
ing of the world is at an end We are now in 
our adolescence, and think scorn of the days 
of childhood. Notwithstanding this general 
prosaicness, however, there come moments 
in the lives of most of us when we regret the 
absence of that divine gift which men call 
imagination ; we want to see things again 
from the glamour of childhood, and would be 
glad to accept the faith which has nearly died 
away. We get sick of being humdrum ; at 
such moments, romance and legend appeal to 
ui again ; in short, we come to the inevitable 
moment of reaction ; we reach the extreme 
edge of the pendulum and begin to swing 

All Literature repeats this ract. The 
romance of Scott and Coleridge followed the 
classic formality of Gray and Thomson. It 
is a good sign of our own day that we are 
beginning to turn with relief from the ugly 
realism of the modern novel to the light 
fancy and stirring romance of Stevenson and 
other writers of his school 

In Art, too, the same thing occurs. We 
have our realistic painters and our painters 
of romance. Sir Edward Burne-Jones un- 
questionably takes the lead in the latter 
school Above all other things, he is most 
remarkable for his vivid power of imagina- 
tion, his strong sense of poetry, his idealism. 
In an age which is essentially without 
reverence or mystery, he stands aloof from 
the busy crowd, and paints canvas after 
canvas full of vague mysticism, of almost 
childlike longing to reach the secret 
which has never yet been revealed on 
sea or shore. The fact that Sir 
Edward Burne-Jones is such a popular 
painter shows that, after all, the imaginative 
quality in our hearts is more dormant than 
dead He belongs to the age in which he 
lives, but he has never really mixed with it. 
He spends his days in the romance of the 
past. iJ^^pi^^UiiipinrlfiLl of that sad mingr 



key which underlies our present hurrying spiritual [joint uf view. In the "Chant 
life, he lives himself more or less in a charmed d'Amour," the time is early morning: the 
atmosphere of eternal youth, This seems to sunrise streams through the church in the 
me to be the dominant note in 
the greater part of his work. 

A brief glance at some of his 
pictures may illustrate this state- 

In "The Golden Stair," one 
of the most popular and best 
known of Burne- Jones's works, 
we see at a glance a procession 
which seems to represent the 
essence of Spring, the very im- 
personation of glad and happy 
youth. Wonder may be percep- 
tible on some of the faces, but 
care on none. The white doves 
on the window are not more 
innocent than these innocent 
and lovely maidens. They have 
decked themselves with wreaths, 
and as they trip down the golden 
stairs, and enter the portals of 
some life hitherto unknown, they 
make glad music. 

This is perhaps one of the 
most beautiful pictures which the 
painter has ever placed on canvas. 
It seems to represent, though 
such a term is scarcely allowable, 
"Youth's Jubilee." 

In **The Mirror of Venus n 
the note of youth is again struck, 
but the maidens have evidently 
advanced in the knowledge of 
good and evil since they first went 
down the golden stairs. Venus, 
in all her beauty, stands in their 
midst— their hearts quicken as 
they look into the magical pool. 
Among its water-lilies and forget- 
me-nots they are anxiously search- 
ing for some vision of their own 
future* Their faces express long- 
ing, and even a faint touch of the 
unrest and perplexity which are 
so characteristic of the present day* 

In his two celebrated pictures, 
61 Chant d'Amour" and "Love 
Among the Ruins," Sir Edward 
endeavours to show the power 
of Love, In the il Chant 
d'Amour," love is represented as 
the consecrating Spirit of Life ; 
in his "Love Among the Ruins," 
it is the Great Consolation. In 
both these pictures the subject 
is treated from a mythical and p***™^^ -t^; u ■>.. > 




background, and falls full upon the maiden 
playing on the organ. The knight in armour 
sits spell-bound, almost at her feet ; Love, 
with closed eyes and wings, blows the organ. 

is in ruins; the briar rose grows over the 
lovely garden ; the harp is silent. All would 
be blackness and desolation but for the fact 
that Love itself still lives. The reflection of 

Here is love idealized — almost passionless. 

None of 

That unrest which men mis -call delight 
is perceptible here. 

In " Love Among the Ruins " a much 
sadder note is struck. Love is indeed here 
the Consolation. All else is gone, the house 

Digitized by tat 

its sunshine is seen on the faces of the two 

lovers. The worst has not therefore come, 

for Love survives, 

This beautiful picture is one of the 

painter's most popular works. Its exquisite 

and tender greys and blues can scarcely be 

surpassed. All is in tone with the subject, 
uriginai from J 




"The Star of Bethlehem s is a new render- 
ing of the old story which is interwoven into 
the life of each English child. Here are the 
mother and babe, the angel Gabriel stands 
near to watch the scents ; his wings are folded, 
his hands clasped together, he looks as if he 
were just arrested in flight, as if he had just 
flown from the highest Heaven to witness 
this first triumph of the King of Kings. 
The kings from the East are presenting their 
gifts— gold, and frankincense, and myrrh- 
The sunlight glitters alike on the jewels and 
on the white lily blossoms and red roses 

as studies in a single colour. "The Wood 
Nymph" looks out on the world froin her 
throne in the heart of a laurel wood, the thick 
foliage which surrounds her is of every shade 
of green. "The Sea Nymph/' on the other 
hand, is a study in blue. 

The " Flam ma Vestal is" is another type of 
the inexhaustible imaginative gift of this 
great painter The look, of serenity is very 
manifest on the fair face. This expression 
is not, perhaps, unmixed with resignation. 
The maiden has given up the world, but 
under protest. The picture is very well 

Phrioprafthtd h v \ 

"chant d'amouk, 

[F, ILAiurr. 

which grow in the foreground of the picture- 
This is one of the largest water-colours ever 
painted, measuring 12ft by 8ft. ; as a work 
of art it is magnificent, but notwithstanding 
its subject, it does not seem to me so subtle 
and full of spiritual meaning ;is others which 
are less obviously religious. 

"The Wood Nymph," which is reproduced 
here, has a companion picture called ** The 
Sea Nymph." Both these pictures were 
painted in 1880, and are considered more 
conventional than most of Burne-joncVs 
work. They are very interesting, however, 

known, and is deservedly popular. The very 
beautiful picture, "Sponsa di Libano," or, as 
it is sometimes called, "The Winds Picture 
from the Song of Solomon," is a marvellous 
conception. The figures, which represent the 
North and South winds, the Bride who waits 
for her Beloved in the garden of lilies, have 
never been more exquisitely portrayed. Here, 
again, are the old, familiar themes, Youth and 

One of the painter's most remarkable 
pictures, which, alas ! is little known, 
because no photograph has ever been taken 




of it, is one which was painted in his 
early days, but which he has never sur- 
passed in beauty of conception and idea* 
It is called " Christ Kissing the Merciful 
Knight/ 1 Those visitors who saw the collec- 
tion of his pictures in the New Gallery two 

met the murderer, who prayed earnestly for 
mercy in the name of Christ who had died 
on the cross that day. Hearing him plead in 
this name, the knight forgave him. In the 
evening, the Merciful Knight knelt at the 
chapel on the Hill of San Miniato. At that 

years ago cannot fail to have remarked this 
work. The legend from which the picture is 
painted is as follows : A certain knight, St. 
Giovanni Gualberto, rode out on Good 
Friday to avenge his brother's death, IRe 

moment a miracle occurred— the Christ on 
the crucifix bowed to kiss his cheek 
Henceforth the warrior devoted himself 
to a religious life, Julia Cartwright thus 
describes th&Jrpptnfl'tff'dtliThe forest back- 



2 1 

ground, with its clear pool of water and 
glancing sunlight, was the same which 
Rossetti had admired many years before, 
but the hedge of flowering roses recalls 
the Florentine hillside where the miracu- 

him* The picture made a profound im- 
pression at the time ; some were startled, 
and others repelled, by the strangeness of 
the conception, but it was impossible not 
to recognise the power and the originality of 

lous event is said to take place. Here the 
good knight kneels, clad in steel armour, 
at the wayside shrine, and his pale face, worn 
and wearied with the struggle through which 
he has passed, gleams with a look of unearthly 
beauty as the image of Christ bends towards 

the artist, All things, it was felt, were 
possible to the painter of this picture." 

To a nature like Sir Edward's the myths of 
the past prove an unfailing source of inspira- 
tion. Over and over again he turns back to 
them, rejecting more modern and less classical 




themes. He takes the old nursery legends, 
the old, old romances, and clothes them with 
fresh life. His celebrated pictures, " The 
Briar Rose," " Pygmalion and Galatea," "The 
Story of Perseus, 51 ct The Romaunt of the 
Rose," and many others too numerous to 
mention, show abundantly where his fancy 
most loves to wander* 

I do not feel qualified to speak of the 

immensity and variety of his work. He has 
done much in every form of decorative art, 
especially in designs for stained glass and 
mosaic. With his friend, Mr. William Morris, 
he has revived decorative art in England; and 
now, not only in our cathedrals, but in quiet 
village churches, the beautiful windows, 
designed and executed by this pair, meet the 
eye. One lovely example is to be found at 

1 'ft ■>' i if/ <ti} i he -t !'. i: ] 


[tf Hviiwr 

technical excellence of his work, but the 
wealth of colour and grace of form which 
characterize such pictures as " The Briar 
Rose" and " Pygmalion and Galatea" must 
be seen to be appreciated. 

Those visitors who were privileged to see 
his splendid collection at the New Gallery 
can form little idea, even from this, of the 

K rOO; 

the east end of St Philip's Church, Birming- 
ham, the birthplace of the painter. It 
represents, on the right, the Nativity; on the 
left, the Crucifixion ; the centre window is a 
picture of the Ascension. 

Julia Cart w right gives a delightful account 
of another window, which must he truly 
splendid in its colouring and design. This 




Fhutograplud fry F. H&llycr, 

came to these martyrs in the flames, The 
famous pictures of the Days of the Creation 
were originally designed for this window, and 
repeated at Tarn worth a year later." 

There is scarcely any branch of art in 
which this painter has not laboured some time 
during his life — his decorations have even 
extended to articles of furniture, cabinets* 
pianos, organs. He has designed tapestry 
and needlework— decorations for tiles and 
bass-reliefs. In all these varied works he 
has, to quote from Mrs. Ady, "taken care 
to observe the principles of design, and 
the limits imposed by the capabilities 
of his material" She goes on to tell us 
that the great tapestry of the Adoration of 
the Magi, executed from his design by Mr. 
William Morris, now hangs in the chapel of 
Exeter College, a fitting memorial of that 
memorable friendship between the poet and 
painter, which had its origin in Oxford days. 
Sir Edward Burne- Jones has also turned his 
prolific fancy towards the illustration of books 
— his pencil studies of Virgil's Epic are 
masterpieces of exquisite finish and beauty. 

When a boy or girl shows any special 
talent, it is a favourite question to ask 
whether he or she inherits the gift from 
parent or ancestor. In the case of Sir 
Edward, there was no hereditary tendency 
towards Art He was born in the un romantic 
town of Birmingham, and grew up in its 
ugliness anddulness, far from all galleries and 
Art schools. He had not even story-books to 
gladden his eyes, and speaks now of the hungry 

window is to be found in the fine old church 
of Middleton Cheney, a village in South 
Northamptonshire. I quote from her own 
words ; — 

" Thirty years ago, the rector of this parish, 
Mr. W. E. Buckley, determined to make the 
windows of his church a complete record of 
Bible History, Mr. Morris filled the large 
East window with a picture of the Celestial 
Country, for which Mr, Burne- J ones designed 
the Adoration of the Lamb. Mr. Ford 
Maddox-Brown and other artists supplied 
cartoons for the remaining saints. In 1 867, Mr. 
Burne-Jones designed the West window in 
the tower. Here the Three Children are seen 
walking in the flames, which seem to curl 
and leap about them as the evening sunlight 
streams through the glowing panes, Above, 
in the upper lights of the window, are the Six 
Angels, bearing in their hands the crystal 
spheres, which tell of the leafy bowers and 
clear waters of Paradise — the vision which 

by Google 


[F lfvllv*r. 



gaze with which he used to look in at the 
booksellers' windows. At eleven years old 
he was sent to King Edward's School, and 
there he threw himself into the classic part 
of his education with much delight Homer 

The artist's father was anxious that the 
boy should take orders in the Church of 
England. In accordance with this wish he 
went to Exeter College, Oxford, in 185 2> but 
he had little love for the routine of college 

/'AutotftttptaJ bu\ 


tf\ tMtvtr. 

and Virgil were indeed congenial food to 
such a nature, and here he began first to 
make acquaintance with those wonderful 
myths and legends which he was to interpret 
with such splendour by-and-by. 


life, and found lectures a weariness to the 
flesh. It was at Oxford, however, that he 
first met William Morris; he had also gone 
there with the intention of taking orders. A 
great friendship sprang up between these two, 



fnmt uj 


and after earnest talk and consultation, the 
young men determined to throw aside all 
other considerations and devote themselves 
heart and soul to the service of Art* 

They came to London, where they met 
Rossetti, and other men of what was to be 
eventually the great pre-Raphaelite school 

From that moment Burne-Jones never 
turned aside from the real bent of his genius. 
He was twenty -three years of age when he 
really adopted Art as his profession. He had, 
therefore, much to learn, finding himself, to 
quote his own words, at five-and-twenty where 
he ought to have 
been at fifteen. 

Perseverance and 
genius, however, 
overcame all ob- 
stacles, and, step 
by step, the great 
master ascended 
the steep Hill of 
Difficulty, until he 
finally reached his 
present lofty emi- 

In a paper like 
this, it would take 
too long to go 
minutely into the 
story of his life. 
To acquire any 
real success in Art 
is the work of a 
lifetime ; to many 
patient workers Frvm*] 

Vol * 4, 

success never 
comes ; but where, 
to that subtle thing 
called genius, is 
added the indomit- 
able spirit of perse- 
vering toil, the result 
is assured, 

There are few 
painters more 
popular than Sir 
Edward Rurne- 
Jones is at the 
present day. Not 
only in England, 
but in most conti- 
nental towns we see 
reproductions from 
his beautiful pic- 
tures. He has 
worked for far more 
than fame ; he has 
endeavoured to add 
fresh l>eauty to the world, and to raise 
the art which he loves to a high place 
in every home in the land. Rut fame has 
also in a large measure come to him ; he 
meets it with quiet dignity, and in his 
country home in the heart of London, 
allows it to trouble him very little. 

For the purpose of writing this article, I 
went to visit him there last winter. When 
he first took possession of t( The Grange," 
twenty- seven years ago, the house was truly 
in the country. It stood in the midst of 
fields, on the borders of London. This old, 

\ PfrotoffrVpA. 

TM home s-Qwq J f LJW»tf «pfc 




red-briek house was celebrated even before its 
present occupant" took possession of it, for 
Richardson wrote his famous novels there, 
and Dr. Johnson and Hogarth were often to 
be seen under the old roof "The Grange " 
now sumds somewhat lonely in the midst of 
poor streets and small houses, but it still has 
its Itafy trees and sheltered garden, and 
flowers are yet to be found there uninjured 
by London smoke. The painter finds his 
happiness in the old place, and has no ap- 
parent wish to change his quarters, In the 
summer he does much of his work in bis 
beautiful garden studio ; but when I last saw 
him he was in the home studio, where his 
winter work is principally tarried on. 

Li I shall be glad to give you any informa- 
tion in my power," he said, in his genial way, 
"but I cant consent to a regular interview. 
My public life belongs to the nation, and I 
will gladly answer any questions you like to 
ask about it- My private life, on the other 

hand, I regard as my own. I do not care to 
have the curtain drawn aside from it, It 
puzzles me much,' he continued, with a sigh, 
tL to know what special interest the public 
can take in the ordinary domestic life of a 
man, whether he is well known in his public 
capacity or not. My pictures are for the 
people — my inner life for myself and my 

In this brief account, therefore, of our 
great painter, I have been obliged to speak 
more uf bis works than of his special and 
delightful individuality. It is possible, how- 
ever, that those who study his canvsiscs may 
by so doing catch some thing of his spirit 

He has been a hard fighter on the side of 
Truth against Shams. Looking on Art as 
almost a religion, he has lived up to his high 
ideal Believing in the power of beauty as 
the most important lever in the true education 
of the Race, he has done his utmost to add 
to the Beauty of the World. 

Fr,*m a 



by Google 

Original from 

A True Ghost Story. 

By the Countess of Munster. 

ijOT many years ago, people 
used to sneer at ghosts and 
ghost stories much more than 
they do now, and one would 
constantly hear people whisper 
to one another (while some 
individual was relating his or her experience) : 
"Ah ! it is very odd that these ghost stories 
should always be related at second or third 
hand. Now, / want to set a person who 
personally has seen the ghost, and then I will 
believe ! n 

Yes ! People are more accustomed to 
hearing about ghosts now ; and yet, even 
now, should it be a wife, daughter, or sister 
who ventures to narrate sonic supernatural 
experience, she is pooh-poohed, or laughed 
at, or told to *' take a pill" % 

Now, / have seen a ghost and am prepared 
io attest most solemnly to the fact, as well as 
to the truth of every word here set down. 1 

by K: 



have, of course, avoided names, but nothing 
else ; so, without further preamble, I will state 
my case, 

Some yearn ago I became the object of the 
infatuated adoration of a person of my own 
age and sex ; and I use the word " infatuated ' y 
advisedly, because I feel now, as I did at 
the time, that neither I nor any mortal that 
ever lived could possibly be worthy of the 
overwhelming affection which my poor friend 
lavished upon me. I, on my side, was not 
ungrateful towards her, for I loved her in 
return very dearly ; but when I explain that 
I was a wife and the mother of young children, 
and that she was unmarried, it will easily be 
understood that our devotion to each other 
must of necessity be rather one-sided ; and 
this fact caused some dispeace between us at 

For many years my friend held a post at 
Court, which she resigned soon after she 
Original from 



began to know me ; and although her Royal 
Mistress, in her gracious kindness, assigned 
two houses to her, she gave them both up, to 

be free to live near me in B ; indeed, she 

gave up relatives, old servants and comforts 
in order that she might come and live (and 
die, alas !) in lodgings, over a shop, near me. 
But she was not happy. She " gloomed " 
over the inevitable fact that, in consequence 
of the difference in her home-circumstances 
and mine, I could not be with her every day, 
and all day long. I think she was naturally 
of an unhappy disposition, being deeply, pas- 
sionately, and unjustifiably jealous, and also 
painfully incapable of taking things and 
people as they were. All this gave me 
often much annoyance; but we were, all 
the same, sometimes very cheerful and happy 
together, and sometimes — the reverse. 

Later on, she, poor soul, was taken ill, and 
during months of fluctuating health I nursed 
her — sometimes in hope, sometimes without 
— and at moments during her illness she 
found strange comfort in foretelling to me, 
after the most " uncanny " fashion, things 
which she declared would happen to me 
after her death. They were mostly triviali- 
ties — little episodes concerning people and 
things over whom and which we had talked 
and laughed together, for she was gifted with 
a keen sense of the ridiculous. 

Amongst other things, she said to me 
one afternoon : — 

"This bazaar for which we are working" 
(she had been helping me for weeks for a 
charity bazaar, and I can now see her dainty 
little hands, as ahe manipulated the delicate 

muslin and lace. Poor, poor I. ! ) " I 

shall be dead before it takes place ; and I 
shall see you at your stall, and on one of the 
days of the bazaar, an old lady will come up 
to you and say : ' Have you any of poor Miss 

L 's work?' (mentioning me). And you 

will answer * Yes ! here is some ! ' and you 
will show her this which I am working; 
and she'll say * Have you any more ? ' and 
you'll say ' Yes ' again ; and she'll carry it 
all off, and say she buys it for 'poor Miss 

L 's sake/ And I shall know and see it 

all ! " 

I remember repeating, wonderingly, " What 

She answered, dreamily, " Oh ! I don't 
know — but — some old lady ! You'll see ! " 

And I am bound to say, this is exactly what 
occurred at the bazaar, months after her 
death : an old lady, with whom I was not 
acquainted, did buy all her work, having 
asked for it, and carrying it away " for her 


sake ! " An old lady, too, whom I hcd 
never seen. 

One other curious circumstance which 
attended her death was that, after looking 
forward with more than usual pleasure to 
my coming birthday (which she said would 
be " a more than commonly happy anni- 
versary"), that was the very day on which 
she died ! 

I think that one of the sharpest regrets 
which I ever experienced in my life consisted 
in the fact that I was not with my dearest 
friend at the moment that she passed away. 
She had made me promise that I would be 
with her at that time, and, God knows, I 
had the fullest intention of fulfilling her wish, 
but on that very evening, of all others, I was 
called away, and she died in my absence. 
I had been sitting by her bed-side all the 
afternoon, and all that evening I had held 
her dear hand, and had kept whispering 
comforting words in her ear ; but latterly she 
had made no response, and was, seeming y, 

Suddenly a messenger came from my 
house (not a hundred yards, it was, away), 
saying my husband wanted me at once, as 
one of my children was ill. I looked at the 
nurse, who assured me there was " nothing 
immediate" impending; so, stooping over 
my poor friend, I whispered — at the same 
time pressing a kiss on her forehead— that 
"half an hour should see me at her side 
again." But she took no notice, and much 
against my will I hastily, and noiselessly, left 
the room. 

Throwing a shawl over my head I hurried 
across the square, and as I passed the 
church the clock struck twelve, and I 
suddenly remembered that — to-day was my 
birthday ! 

I got back in less than half an hour, and 
on my return heard, to my everlasting sorrow, 
that I had not been gone ten minutes before 

my dear L became restless and uneasy, 

then suddenly starting up in her bed, she 
looked hastily round the room, gave a cry, 
then there came a rush of blood to her mouth, 
and after a few painful struggles, she sank 
back, gasped once or twice, and never moved 

Of course, I thought then, and do to this 
day, that she was looking round the room 
for nte f and that she had died feeling I had 
broken my faith with her. A bitter, never- 
failing regret ! 

I have given this slight sketch of the feelings 
which existed between me and my poor 
friend (before narrating the circumstances of 




her supernatural visit 
to me), just to em- 
phasize the facts of 
the alluring fascina- 
tion, the intense 
affection, which ex- 
isted between us 
during her life-time, 
and which, I firmly 
believe, have lasted 
beyond her grave. 

Quite a year and 
a half after her death, 
in y poor L— — , with 
what motive I know 
not (unless it may 
have been T as I 
sometimes fondly 
hope, to assure me 
that she understood 
and sympathized 
with my sorrow at 
my having failed her 
at the moment of 
her extremity), ap- 
peared to me. She 
came once — but 
never again. It oc- 
curred thus :— 

[ had been suf- 
fering all day from 
brow ague, and had 
gone early to bed— 
but not to sleep- 
All the evening I 
had been kept pain- 
fully awake by that 
same church clock 
which I have men- 
tioned above. It 

seemed to me to strike oftener, louder, and 
more slowly than any clock I had ever had 
t he m i sfo r t u n e t o co m e a c to ss . O f co u r se, m y 
ailment of the moment caused the clock's 
vagaries to appear peculiarly painful, and I 
bore the annoyance very restlessly, with my 
face turned pettishly to the wall ; but when 
the midnight hour began to chime, I felt as 
though 1 could bear it no longer, Mutter- 
ing an impatient exclamation, I turned in my 
bed, so as to face the room, and looking 

across it, I saw my poor L , standing 

close to a screen between me and the door, 
looking at me. 

She was in her usual dress, wearing (what 
was then called) a "cross-over," which was 
tied behind ; while her bonnet {which she 
was always in the habit of taking off as she 
came upstairs) was, as usual, hanging by the 

AS 1 IV-- 1 ,. 

ribbon, on her arm, 
She had a smile on 
her face, and I dis- 
tinctly noticed her 
lovely little white 
ears, which were 
always my admira- 
tion, and which were 
only half covered by 
her soft brown hair. 
She stood — a 
minute it seemed— 
looking at me, then 
she glided towards 
me, and I, half-ap- 
prehensive that she 
was about to throw 
herself on my bed, 
exclaimed, jumping 
up in a sitting pos- 
ture : — 

" Dearest ! what 
brings you here so 

With deep reve- 
rence be it spoken ; 
but as soon as these 
words were out of 
my mouth I was 
irresistibly reminded 
of those spoken 
(Holy Writ tells us) 
by Saint Peter at the 
awful moment of the 
Transfiguration ! 
Awed and dazed at 
the sight of the 
spiritual visitants, we 
are to!d he uttered 
words u not knowing 
what he said," These words of mine also 
seemed to leap to my lips, with but little 
meaning in them — if any. 

As sooitj however, as my voice had ceased, 
the apparition disappeared, and I remained 
some moments motionless. 

One of the most curious features of the 
case is that, although I was very especially 
restless and awake at the moment of the 
appearance, I recognised my friend so com- 
pletely, that 1 forgot^ also, to recognise the 
fact that she had died ; or, rather, it happened 
too quickly for me to bring that fact to mind. 
Indeed, it all took place in such a flash — 
in such a moment of time— so much quicker 
than I can tell it — and she looked so exactly 
like her well-known self, that till she had dis- 
appeared, I really believed I was seeing her 
in the flesh? Of course j as soon as I had 





time to reflect, I remembered, and realized 
what it was I had seen ! 

I was not frightened, but / felt colder than 
I had ever felt in my life y and / have ntner 
felt so coid situty but the moisture seemed 
to pour off my body. I called no one to my 
assistance ; all I realized was that God had 
permitted line to see her once more, and that 
perhaps He might send her to me again. 
Hut He has not done so, and, probably, now. 
He never will. 

I lay awake all night afterwards, hoping for 

and T I think, almost expecting — her again, 
and after the day had dawned I fell asleep. 

Before telling* my story to anyone, and 
dreading unspeakably all the doubting and 
sarcastic speeches which such a narration 
would inevitably call forth, I sent for my 
doctor, an old and trusted friend, and after 
making him talk rationally to me for some 

time, I asked him whether he considered me 
in an ex a /fee state, or whether I had ever 
betrayed any hysterical tendencies. He 
reassured me heartily on these points, and 
then asked my reasons for such question- 
ings. I thereupon opened my heart to him, 
and he neither ridiculed nor disbelieved, but, 
on the contrary, told me another case of the 
same kind which had lately happened to a 
friend of his ; but he strongly advised me 
to keep my own counsel at present (which I 
did for some time), and kindly added that 
he not only did not look upon me as a 
lunatic, but simply as a woman for whom 
one corner of the curtain which guarded the 
unseen had been lifted. 

In conclusion, I repeat I am ready to vouch 
for the truth of every word here set down, 
and also, should it be required, to give names 
— in private — to satisfy those who doubt. 

by Google 

Original from 


By Netta Esplin Caroill. 

HUNDRED years of life is 
what Providence intended 
for man." So wrote Button, 
a profound student of human 
physiology and the laws by 
which its complexities are 
governed and controlled. And that great 
naturalist's assertion has not only been 
indorsed by many other well-known observers, 
but is being every day verified in actual ex- 
perience. But if this declaration by a modern 
scientist does not quite agree with that dictum 
of the Psalmist of old which assigned four- 
score years as a limit of human endurance, it 
must be remembered that in the history of the 
race, even from the earliest times, there have 
been famous instances of the prolongation 
of life to a span far beyond even a century. 

Omitting those of Scriptural renown, per- 
haps the most remarkable instances of the 
kind on record were those — first— of Thomas 
Cam, or Caron, an Englishman who, it has 
been averred, lived to the unparalleled age of 
207 ; and, secondly, of a Russian subject who 
was believed to have attained to an age of 
between 200 and 205 ! The former bi-cen- 
tenarian — shall we call him ? — died on the 
25th January, 1588, and it is stated that 
his age has been confirmed by the register 
of the parish of St. Leonard's, Shoreditch ; 
while the death of the latter occurred as 
recently as 1812, at a village in the diocese 
or province of Ekaterinov, in the south of 
Russia, the fact having been noted at the 
time in the St. Petersburg Gazette. The 
probability is that these abnormal ages were 
both exaggerated, though they have often 
been cited as examples of bi- centenarian 
ages attained by human beings. Be that as 
it may, Button's measurement of the life- 
limit has been and is, indeed, being every 
year more or less overstepped by scores of 
persons in many parts of the world. 

Some years ago a most interesting book 
was written by a well-known London actuary 
on the subject of Life Assurance, and, in the 
course of many pages of useful statistics, he 
submitted a list of individuals who were 
known or supposed to have reached the age 
of 120 and upwards ! Including the two 
phenomenal cases referred to, the list num- 
bered no fewer' than 225 centenarians of 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

almost every social rank and condition, and 
belonging to many nationalities, though, 
strange to say, the majority were either 
Britons or Russians. 

" We had originally intended," wrote the 
author of the work, "to include in the list all 
recorded cases of deaths in this country at 
ages over 100, but we found the cases from 
120 down so numerous that we had to pull 
up at 120 for want of space." 

The question, therefore, may well be 
asked : Is centenarianism on the increase 
in the human family ? Under the ever- 
improving conditions of life by which the 
human family is now, generally speaking, 
environed, the number of persons attaining to 
centenarian ages ought certainly to be on the 
increase. Yet it is to be feared that the 
greatly prolonged spans of life which were 
known to former generations are rarely, if 
ever, experienced in these days. 

A man or woman, say, 130 or even 120 
years old, would to-day be considered a very 
great curiosity, a veritable relic of the past, 
well worthy of the interest and sympathy of 
all, more especially since, in all likelihood, 
such a centenarian would be found, like so 
many other centenarians, to belong to the 
humbler and poorer classes of the people. 
In this country, at all events, no such worthy 
is alive to-day. 

According to the last census, the oldest 
person living in 1891 was then aged 1 13. She 
has since died, and a number of years must 
again pass before it can be possible for the 
oldest person now living in the United 
Kingdom to reach the age of 120. On the 
other hand, it is probable that there are more 
persons every year approximating to cen- 
tenarian ages (taking the maximum age at 
100 years) than ever there were before in the 
history of the race; and, after all, this is 
surely the greater desideratum. Better a 
goodly number of a hundred-year-old folk 
than only a few 120 years old ! 

How many centenarians there are in this 
country at the present time is a matter that 
need not concern us now, my purpose being 
to pass in review a few of those " worthies " 
who have reached centenarian ages, and by 
drawing attention to the subject, if possible 
to encourage;.^ jflftpfffiffi to go and "dp 




likewise/ 1 ' The late Dr. Farr, for many years 
the Registrar ■ General, in which capacity 
lie had the hirst opportunity for form- 
ing an opinion on the whole matter, once 
affirmed that "a century may be considered 
the circuit of time in which human life goes 
through all the phases of its evolution/' Is 
it not the duty of all to try at least, as far as 
possible, to conform to those laws and con- 
ditions of " living " by which that circuit 
may be accomplished? The following in- 
teresting instances are cited as having done 
so : — 

Mrs. Margaret Macarthur, or 
who lives at 14, Sandwickhill, North Street, 
Stornoway, is 105 years of age and is still, 
to use the stereotyped phrase, in possession 
of all her faculties. Quite recently she 

— ^^—^^~ 

¥ -^^M^^ft I 




From n Fkfrto, Jjj W. MrtaoJ, StnrwHtinr. 

walked into Stornoway and back to 
her home, which is about a mile and 
a quarter distant from that town, 
smartly and without much fatigue. 
Indeed, the old lady has an amazing 
amount of vigour, considering her 
great age, daily taking pleasure in 
doing household duties. She has 
recently dispensed with the use of 
spectacles and is again able, without 
their aid, to read small print. Her 
hearing is wonderfully sharp, a very 
uncommon gift in one so aged. 

Locally, and in the Gaelic tongue, 
Mrs. Mackenzie is known as " Ban- 


trach Dhomhmiill/' or the widow of Donald, 
though, as a matter of fact, she has been 
widowed twice* Her father was a crofter 
or small farmer in the district where she 
has resided almost all her long life, and 
of her early days and experiences she 
still retains many interesting memories. 
When a little girl, she witnessed not a few 
of the ever-deplorable scenes of eviction 
which scattered so many crofter families to 
the ends of the earth in the last years of 
the eighteenth century ; and when grown to 
womanhood, and already entered on the cares 
of a wife and mother, she was one of many 
of the West Highland folks who were 
"brought under" the influence of what is 
still remembered as the great Evangelical 
movement of 1825 — a movement which left 
its mark indelibly upon her own life and 
character. Nothing thrills the old lady more 
than the remembrance, as strong within her 
to-day as three-quarters of a century ago, of 
the scenes and incidents of those days ; and 
of the good men and women, long ago 
passed away, who took a prominent part in 
the movement, and whose names, which are, 
even yet, to her as household words, she 
holds very dear. 

All through her life Mrs. Mackenzie has 
been a woman of intense religious convictions, 
though her religion— in theory as well as in 
daily experience — is, and has always been, of 
the sunniest and happiest kind, with nothing 
sour or gloomy about it, as if it were a sort of 
penance for the past and a dismal preparation 
for the future. Indeed, according to those 
who know her best and have lived many years 
beside her, she is one of the most cheerful 
and hopeful Christian women— cheerful with 
everybody and hopeful for everybody— that 
ever lived in the Highlands of Scotland. And 



From (i 1% 

Original from 



for this characteristic she is famous for many 
miles around the little village of Sandwick, 
where she resides. Is it not possible that it 
is to this very excellent trait that Mrs. 
Mackenzie owes something for the wonderful 
age to which she has attained ? Be that as it 
may, she is a splendidly preserved old lady, as 
her photograph — the first and probably the 
last ever taken— wi 11 testify to all who look 
at it With her likeness is also shown a 
picture of her humble cottage-home, with 
the old lady standing at the door, with her 
vade-mecum^ the Bible, in her hand, 

Mrs. Alexandria Ross, or Mackav, 

of Coldbackie, Tongue, Sutherlandshire, N.B. 

This worthy old lady died at the above 

address as recently as iSth April, 1894, 

having completed her 105th year. She lived 

there with three of 

her children, whose 

ages vary in the seven- 

ties and eighties ! 

Her eldest " boy," 

past eighty, lives with 

his wife next door to 

her dwelling, A lady 

who resides in North 

Staffordshire, and who 

took a great interest 

in old Mrs, Mackay 

and often visited her, 

has very kindly su]> 

plied the following 

particulars about 

her :— 

"The dear old 
woman was bright 
and cheerful, and in 
full possession of all 
her faculties, though 
feeble and sometimes 
obliged to take a day 
or two in bed. She 
had a pretty pink 
colour in her cheeks, 
which were quite 
rounded till the last 
She loved to chat 
about old times and 
1 the Queen '—who, I 
found out, was good 
Queen Charlotte, 
whom she had seen in London in early youth 
— and then, when talking of ' Her Majesty/ 
was the only time her mind seemed to wander. 
She would think it was the same Queen now, 
and evidently lived over again in the interest- 
ing glimpse of Royalty she had enjoved so 

Vol., -6. 

long ago* She had been in the North 
during the exciting times of the famous 
Sutherlandshire and Ross-shire evictions, and 
up to the last retained an intelligent and 
vivid remembrance of the painful scenes 
then enacted. To within a short time before 
her death, her pleasant, cheery chatting con- 
tinued. One day her daughter— ill in bed — 
said to her: 'Mother, don't talk now; my 
head is sore,* to which the old lady replied : 
' You should not stop me, I shall soon be 
quiet for ever!' facing, with full conscious- 
ness and calmness, her impending change. 
She recalled absent friends, and before dying 
was able to say ' Farewell ! ' to her surround- 
ing family. Her habits of life seemed to 
have been severely simple and, I fear, not 
devoid of privation, I only knew her by her 
cottage fireside, or sitting in the sunshine on 

the doorstep. I never 
heard a murmur from 
her lips, and I look 
upon her as a beau- 
tiful example of a 
centenarian who lived 
a life of hardship and 


**■ -;■? 




1 » 

Mrs, Feverill. 

Of all the cente- 
narians alive at the 
present time there is 
not, perhaps, a more 
interesting and pa- 
thetic case than that 
supplied by the life- 
history of Mrs, Peve- 
rill, of Winchmore 
Hill, Ixmdon, N. t 
who has been quite 
blind for the past 
twenty years. Born 
in Whitechapel on 
July 17th, 1792, her 
lot has been, first and 
last, one full of hard- 
ship and care, and 
notwithstanding her 
eye affliction, other- 
wise she is to-day in 
the enjoyment of per- 
fect health of body 
and mind. 
She was married to a shipwright at St. 
GcorgeVm-the-East n her twenty-second 
year ; the precise date of her marriage is 
April 17th, 1 8 14— five years before Queen 
Victoria was born ! No fewer than thirteen 
children were born to her, and the youngest 


aleXamDriva ftnsa t cm MACKAY. 
FilrM a Fhtfttrtfrttjth. 




of these is now fifty-eight years of age. Her 
husband died about fifty -si \ years ago, and 
until old age and blindness overtook her, 
Mrs, Peverill had perforce to maintain herself 
by hard work, first as a laundress and sub- 
sequently as a monthly nurse, 

A very sad experience was hers in her 
ioist year, A daughter who lived with her 
in her humble home near the Green, W inch- 
more Hill, went out one evening to buy the 
weekly groceries. Somehow she stum tiled 
in the darkness, and, falling into the New 
River that runs close by, was drowned. 
The poor old mother sat up all the night 
through — without any fire to warm her — 
wearily waiting for the daughter who never 

As a child Mrs. Peverill was very fond of 
old songs and ballads, and many of these 
she still remembers and can repeat with fine 
feeling. In her "latter days" she, it is to 
be feared, is not over -com for tably circum- 
stanced, and certainly deserves better of the 

John: Roth well, 
Old Meldrum, Aberdeenshire, is an ex- 
cellently typical example of a centenarian. 
As his name indicates, Mr. Both well was a 
Scotsman* He was born in February, 1791, 
five years before the death of Robert Burns, 
and died in October, 1891. He thus com- 
pleted the full cycle of life with half a year 
to the good* He was twice married, first 
in 181 7 to Jean Bonner, who died without 
issue; and secondly, in 1827, to Jean Caie, by 
whom he had three sons and four daughters. 
His father was a farmer, and Mr. Bothwell 
himself was practically engaged in farm 
work all bis life. He held the lease of 
the farm of Womb well Hill, Kin tore, 
Aberdeenshire, for over forty years, afterwards 
tenanting the farms of Boat of Kin tore and 
Toll of Kintore. From the last-named place 
he removed to Old Meldrum, and for some 
years before his death he lived with his son- 
in-law, Mr, David Christie, there. He was 
confined to his bed eight weeks only previous 
to his death, 

Mr, Bothwell was an exceptionally well- 
built man, and above the average, when in 
the prime of life, in strength and vigour. His 
habits were very regular, being practically the 
same from year to year He rarely went 
beyond the boundaries of his own farm. He 
lived chiefly on oatmeal and milk, a fact 
which no doubt had much to do with his 
splendid health and great age. Butcher 
meat and luxuries of the table were prac- 
tically unknown to the Aberdeenshire far- 

— ■ ■ " — 1 





niers of his time. Although he smoked 
a good deal (he used a very black pipe and 
exceptionally strong tobacco !) from the time 
he was, comparatively speaking, quite young 
until he was ninety years of age, it did not 
seem to have any appreciable effect on his 
health* When he gave up the habit, he did 
so simply because he had grown so that he 
did not really care whether he had a smoke or 
not. He was most temperate in all things, 
and did not indulge in alcoholic liquors of 
any kind. Up to within a year or so of his 
death his memory was perfect, and the 
stories of far-past times which lie used to 
tell his friends were most interesting and 

Jane Baker, 
Wrexham- At the date of the last census 
Wrexham was, in one particular regard, the 
most distinguished town in all Great Britain. 
It contained no fewer 
than three living cente- 
narians, not to speak of 
ninny other very old 
folks fast graduating to 
that honour, Mrs, Baker 
was one of the three 
worthies, for she has 
since passed away, her 
death having occurred 
on the ist June, 1891, 
when just a few months 
over her 101st yean 
Horn on 2nd February, 
1790 (her father's name 
was Braznel), Jane was 
always blessed with an 
abundance of good 
health. When in her 
twenty -eighth year, she 
married a paper-maker 
named James Baker, by 
whom she had eight 
children. On his death 
many years ago, she ob- 
tained her livelihood by 
acting as atnutcheuse for 
the village of Barham t 
near Wrexham, an occu- 
pation she followed for over forty years, till 
old age necessitated her Lt taking her ease/' 
To the very last day of her long life, Mrs, 
Baker retained in a remarkable degree her 
faculties of hearing, sight, memory, and 
speech, and was highly regarded by many 
people in the district where she lived. 

Mrs, Catherine Dorward, or Neil. 
A very interesting centenarian was Mrs. 


Catherine Dorward, who died on the 19th 
May of last year, in the parish of Gauldry of 
Ba! merino, Fifeshire, aged J®i}4* She was 
born at Coultra, on the estate of Birkhill, in 
the same parish, on the 17th October, 1 791* 
Her father was a hand -loom weaver and 
crofter, and at an early age Catherine was 
sent to work at the loom, at which she con- 
tinued till her marriage in 181 7. Her husband 
was David Neil, a weaver, though in his later 
years he became a road surface- nan* Their 
family consisted of ten children— seven sons 
and three daughters — of whom four sons and 
the daughters still survive* During The whole 
of their married life— over fifty-one years— 
they lived at a hamlet named Corbie Hill, 
near Coultra. After her husband's death, how- 
ever, Mrs* Neil removed to Bottom Craig 
rear by, where she resided with one of her 
daughters, Mrs. Biyth, till her death. The 
whole of her long life- 
time was thus spent in 
the same parish, and out 
of it she travelled but 
seldom. She was once 
known to have made a 
journey all the way to 
Edinburgh, via Perth, on 
foot ! Her habits of life 
were at all times very 
regular and simple. In 
her young days, tea was 
an almost unknown 
beverage, so that her 
"nerves" were to the 
end of her life uncom- 
monly well - preserved. 
For years she had a 
certain hour for rising 
and another for retiring, 
and to these she adhered 
very closely. 

Widow Beaton. 

It is "a far cry to 
Loch Awe 1 " It is a 
much farther cry to' 
South Uist, where, in 
the remote parish of 
Sleat, and in one of the most inaccessible 
and picturesque parts of that wide and 
scattered parish, there lives to-day, hale 
and hearty, and, according to local opinion, 
in her 109th year, old Widow Beaton, 
the name this interesting centenarian is 
popularly known by. Her husband, Malcolm 
Beaton dead many years ago was In- 
occupation first a shepherd and latterly a 
labourer I an mdchted to the Rev. Alex, 




Cameron, minister of the parish of Sleat, for 
some interesting particulars about this old 
worthy, and cannot, I think, do better than 
quote him, 

" Mrs. Beaton is one of my communicants, 
and has been present once or twice during 
the past twelve or thirteen years at our com- 
m union services, , . . . For the last nine 
or ten years she has been quite blind, and for 
two years has been almost always in bed. 
Her voice and hearing are almost as good as 
ever, but her face undoubtedly looks very 
old. Indeed, from her face, one could easily 
believe her to be 100 years of age. I saw 
her and read and prayed with her quite 
recently. Her eyes are not only blind, but 
quite closed. Her habits of life have been 
always of the very simplest, and, indeed, as 
she has often told me, she has come through 
not a few hardships and troubles in her day 
■—in bringing up her family, and so on. She 
has lived ever since I have known her in the 
cottage of her second son, Sandy Beaton, 
and she has, I believe, lived very nearly all 
her life close to the same spot. The place 
is the most difficult of access in all this 
district — in a little glen on the west 
side of the peninsula of SleaL If 
you will look at a good mat) of Skye 
you will see a place on the w r est of 
Sleat marked Dafvilk ; Sandy Hea- 
ton's cottage is just at the head of 
the little inlet of the sea at that 
place, from where the manse here 
(Kilmore) — on the east side — is fully 
a two hours' walk, and no road or 

Unfortunately, no portrait of 
Widow Beaton has ever been 
taken. What a very eloquent and 
pathetic figure the old lady would 
make ! Mr- Cameron says of this: 
u Her portrait would, I am sure, 
make a very remarkable one could 

heredity did not count for much, if anything 
at all Another very remarkable fact is that 
our centenarian was, during most of his life, 
engaged in the business of a distiller, an 
occupation which, in the opinion of some 
people, is most inimical to longevity. 

Mr. Liddell was, however, always regarded 
as a very steady and faithful servant, and 
never known to indulge in intemperance of 
any description. He was for many years a 
Freemason, and a regular at tender at the 
meetings of his "Lodge."' He enjoyed the 
distinction of being, in his day, the oldest 
Freemason in Scotland, if not in the United 
Kingdom. A married man, he had a family 
of ten children, seven of whom are still 
living. He was never known to have had 
any really serious illness, 

A gentleman who knew him well, and to 
whom I am indebted for the foregoing par- 
ticulars, met the old worthy on the street a 
few weeks before his death, and asked him 
how he u did " in such cold weather, and he 
replied : " Oh, Fill weel aneuch, but my 
hearing no getttW any hethr yet /" In the 
photo, of Mr. Liddell, here reproduced, the 

it be taken ; as also would be a 


ture of the primitive little cottage in 
which she lives.' 1 The worthy clergy- 
man's own pen-portrait of her, how- 
ever, as quoted above, to a large 
extent supplies that want* 

Mr. William Liddell. 

This centenarian died at Dunbar 
in November, 1892, aged 102 years. 
His father was a farm-servant, and 
died at a comparatively early age, so 
that it may be said that, in his ease, 

* Since this article was written, old Mrs, Beaum 
has parsed to her rest. — N. L. C 





old gentleman is seen holding in his hand a 
valuable snuff-box, presented to him on his 
hundredth birthday by the brethren of his 
Lodge in token of that interesting occasion. 

Mrs. Mary North. 

This worthy centenarian is .still living at 
Afoneitha, near Ruabon, and if spared till 
the nth of July next, will then be 105 years 
of age— one of the oldest persons in this 
country. She was born at Melville, near 
Oswestry, Shropshire, in 1790. We are able 
in her case to show a photo, of her taken 
quite recently. To all appearance, the 
worthy old lady has not aged very much in 
the last ten years. 


From a PboUwrvph. 

Archiijald GuiLLAN, 

Kilconquhar, or "Kinnaeher" as it is 
pronounced locally, in the Kingdom of 
Fife, enjoys the distinction of being the 
birthplace of Archibald (iuillan, who died 
on the 30th May, lSyi, in his 101st year, 
the date of birth being 18th October, 1790, 
As a mark of personal regard for Mr, (Iuillan, 
and especially to celebrate a most interest- 
ing event, viz., his 100th birthday, a public 
meeting was held in the 'low 11 Hall, 
Anstruther, when he was presented with a 


From a Fhvta. bjt J if. intend. AmMtrutkt r. 

purse of sovereigns, A full account of the 
meeting, together with many interesting 
personal particulars of the old worthy in 
whose honour it was held, was published in 
the East of Fife Record at the time. The 
portrait of Mr* Guillan, which is here repro- 
duced, is that of a shrewd, pawky, "well-dune " 
Scot. One would hardly take him as having 
arrived at the 100th milestone of life; but 
that Mr (iuillan nevertheless actually accom- 
plished, and with something to spare ! 

Mrs, Janet Sinclair, 

of Wick. There are not many particulars oF 
l he life of this ivnh-narian, who died at 
Huddart Street, Wick, on the 14th February, 
1892, in her 101st year. Mrs, Sinclair was 
born at Westerdale, in the parish of Halkirk, 
Caithness-shire, her father having been a 
small farmer or crofter there* He died while 
Janet was quite young, and his widow 
removed into Pultnej town, near Wick. Here 
Mrs, Sinclair spent most of her long life — 
always, until near the last, in the enjoyment of 
excellent health. She was able to perform 
her usual household duties, also to sew and 
knit, up to within about a week of her 
death, and was in the possession of all 
her faculties to the end* Her food was 
always of the simplest description, and she 





Fwm\ rt fftoto. lif A, Jvhnxkm, |ffet. 

could never be induced to touch any alcoholic 
liquors , not even when prescribed for her by 
a doctor. The portrait here shown is that of 
herself and her husband, who predeceased 
her by a few years. An uncle of Janet was 
locally known as a remarkable man in his 
day. He was married thrice, and each wife 
bore him no fewer than ten sons. 

Quartermaster Coull. 

When collecting information for this article, 
I was one day shown the portrait of a worthy 
old vetera n t whose age was stated to be up to 
the centenarian limit, and about whom I at 
once made inquiry. This I was all the more 
anxious to do, as the portrait told a story 
which I felt sure was of more than ordinary 
interest. The fine, thoughtful face, the noble 
physique- — and the empty arm-sleeve- all 
promised a capital subject. On further 
inquiry, however, I found that Quartermaster 
Coull had been dead for some years, and, 
moreover, that his age was several years .-ihort 
of the century, But as his career was a 
most remarkable one— fall of th rilling sea 
adventure (few men have undergone so much 
and lived so long), I make mention of him 
in this article. 

Born in 1786, at the fishing village of 
Ferry den, N.B., James Coull was, from his 

Digitized by GOOglC 

earliest years, destined to be a sea rover. 
Beginning at the age of eight as a cabin-boy, 
Jamie soon experienced — voting salt though 
hie was !— the hardships and perils of the sea 
in all their fulness, not even escaping the 
press-gang. Probably the latter experience 
was the making of him, for one day he found 
himself eating the Kings rations on board 
the battle-ship Centaur^ then lying at Copen- 
hagen, whither his ship, oddly named the 
Concord, had called shortly before. These 
were the bravo lighting times that ended with 
the victory of Trafalgar, and about which so 
many stories were wont to be told by those — 
James Coull amon^ them — who, now all 
"'called up aloft," like poor Tom Bowling, 
took part in their clash and clangour. 

The one great incident, however, in the 
life of Coull was the famous battle between 
the Shannon and the Chesapeake in American 
waters in the year 1 S 1 3. The man at the 
helm of the former ship when that encounter 
took place was no less an individual than 
Jamie Coull, of Kerryden, then in his 27th year, 
and the very beau-ideal oi a se.vdog. All the 
world knows what was the upshot of that 
naval fight ; but not the least important inci- 
dent of it — that is to say, to the subject of this 
sketch — was the loss of his left hand, which 
of course disabled him for further employ- 
ment in His Majesty's service, though it by 
no means put an end to his seafaring. Indeed, 





according to a notice of him which appeared 
in the Montrose Revietv at the time of his 
death, Coull's " one arm had more than the 
strength of two common ones, and with it 
and his cleek, as he called it, he could be a 
master cook at sea, which he was for many 
years* 1 after he " quat " the King's service. 
As a matter of fact, " he crossed the Atlantic 
fourteen times as sea-cook, besides having 
been for twenty years cook in Montrose 

Mrs. Mary Newton, 
aged 105 nest birthday, has had a life of 
unusual hardship and toil, and lived most of 
her days (she was married to a miner when in 
her twentieth year) in 
the mining village of 
Bishopbriggs, near 
Glasgow, She, too, 
has reared a large 
family of children, with 
one of whom she now 
stays, She is very frail, 
and is fast Hearing the 
borderland. Her por- 
trait, as here shown 
(with her daughter by 
her side), is certainly 
one of the most inter- 
esting in the present 
collection, and is by 
far the most suggestive 
of great age we have 
ever seen, 

Robert Horslev. 

In these days most 
people think — and very 
properly, too —that 
they are well entitled 
to the " sweets of re- 
tirement Tt when they 
have spent half a cen- 
tury in the hurly-burly 
of active life* Many 
persons, indeed, con- 
sider that limit of service much too pro- 
longed, and their opinion is indorsed by not 
a few of the more popular public depart- 
ments of the present day. 

Certain individuals, however, are able to 
toil away for sixty and even for sixty -five 
years, but very, very few have been known to 
work for so long a period of time as three- 
quarters of a century ere they felt compelled 
to take their ease. And if ever a man truly 
merited the "years of rumination and re- 
pose," it was the above-named centenarian, 
who, in his lifetime, "laboured un one farm 


From a Phtttttyraith, 

alone for seventy-four years, and did more 
hard work than any man."' Examples of 
such physical strength as w r as his are, ef 
course, exceedingly rare, and so they become 
all the more interesting to us when the facts 
are known to be well authenticated, 

Mr. Horsley, who died in January last in his 
103rd year, was well known as the Centenarian 
of Soham, Cambridgeshire, where he was born 
on the 31st July, 1 79^. In a brief but in- 
teresting account of Mr. Horsley, which ap- 
peared in the Daffy Graphic at the time of 
his death, it was stated that on the day 
following his hundredth birthday " he at- 
tended the wedding of a grandson, and ably 
performed the duties 
of best man ! " f A cen- 
tenarian " best man " 
is far and away the 
most interesting wed- 
ding novelty we ever 
heard of ! 

In considering the 
foregoing examples of 
genui ne c e n t e n a r i a n 
ages (for I have been 
assured of the bona- 
fides of each case) 
attained by persons of 
British nationality, 
there are one or two 
points of peculiar in- 
terest which cannot fail 
to claim attention. 

In the first place, 
the majority of the 
centenarians are, or 
were, persons who be- 
long to the humbler 
ranks of the people, 
and who have lived for 
the most part lives of 
toil, care, and even 

In the second place 
all had, strange to say, 
been married, and, in several cases, reared 
large families. I endeavoured, while prepar- 
ing this article, to secure, fur the sake of 
variety, a few instances of celibate etnti- 
mirians, but failed to obtain even a single 
case ! I wonder if there are any such cen- 
tenarians living at the present time? 

Thirdly, most of my examples have lived 
quiet and temperate lives. None of them was 
ever known to drink alcoholic liquors to excess, 
while most of them eschewed those liquors 
altogether. Even the strong tobacco smoke 1 
never parOflkjbf adrfydring more ardent than 




milk wherewith to 
quench his thirst, while 
the distiller centenarian 
was distinguished all 
through his life for his 

In the fourth place, 
the centenarians are, on 
the whole, pretty fairly 
distributed throughout 
the country. Certain 
districts seem to be 
more favoured than 
others in point of the 
numbers of these wor- 
thies. For one thing 
they are, or at least 
were, more numerous 
in northern than in 
southern counties, 
especially in Scotland, 
though in Ireland the 
reverse is the case. In 
the parish of Gareloch, 
in Ross-shire, for exam- 
pkj the centenarian 
record is a very re- 
markable one, as the following list, kindly 
prepared by the local registrar, will show : — 

Frmn a Pfmto, H &ttti 

2. Murdu Maclean , 

i w * *~* j^" 

, 101 , 

3. Mary Mackenzie t 

1 104 

4. Ann Chisholm.. , 

1 *£*> 1 

5. Mary McPher&on 

1 100 , 

6* Alexander McKenzie , 

, 102 , 

7. Catherine Bain „,....,..»* , 

t 100 , 

8* Alexander McKenzie , 

. HI , 

9. Elizabeth McKenzie ,. f 

1 I0 ° » 

10. Margaret Campbell... t 

, ]OI , 

II, Ann Macrae,* >.<.. + .,. f 

1 ioz , 

And they were mostly Afae$ f too ! 

While a quiet, easygoing life in the country 
naturally conduces to longevity, centenarians 

are by no means un- 
known in large cities. 
At the last census, even 
London (and suburbs) 
contained no fewer than 
twenty - one persons — 
five males and sixteen 
females — -who returned 
their respective ages at 
100 years or over. 
Dublin City had five 
centenarians j Glasgow, 
two J Greenock, one ; 
Sal ford, two — and so 
on, thus indicating that 
city life is not altogether 
inimical to long life, 
though the probability 
is that in most of the 
cases just referred to 
the centenarians had 
for many years lived 
" far from the madding 
crowd" in rural peace 
and quiet. 

What, then, is the 
moral of the whole 
matter ? We cannot all change our social 
condition, or rank, or environment in order 
the easier to become centenarians some day ; 
nor can we all, to that same end* achieve the 
state of wedlock, although no doubt there 
have been, and even may be, many unmarried 
folk who have attained 100 years of life. 
But everyone, whatever be the sphere 
or circumstances, may certainly M have a 
care " with regard to those simple yet all- 
important daily habits which, if neglected, 
must certainly shorten the span of life, but 
which, if practised with patient diligence, may 
bring as a reward a glorious, green old age — 
even to the hundredth year ! 


tV Wilkiumn* Cambridge. 

by Google 

Original from 



From the Italian. 

VERY maiden in the ancient 
city of the Doges knew that 
Carlo Metello, the lively, in- 
dustrious, fifteen-year-old ap- 
prentice of the respectable 
master -tailor, Luigi Nadelli, 
was a handsome, brown-eyed fellow. What 
they did not know was that he possessed the 
treasure of a rarely sweet and strong soprano 
voice. His companions in Master Nadelli's 
workshop were well aware of the fact. Their 
needles flew more swiftly to and fro when 
Metello was singing one of his songs. 

Very frequently, also, the customers heard 
him when they came to be measured for a 
new suit of clothes. Upon such occasions, 
Metello was the recipient of many compli- 
ments, and many shining coins found their 
way into his pocket. His fellow-workmen 
did not grudge him these favours, for he had 
won the hearts of all of them by his taking 
ways. He was a favourite with everybody. 
When he carried home the finished garments, 
he was not kept waiting in halls and ante- 
rooms, but was shown into the family apart- 
ment, received with friendliness, and seldom 
dismissed unenriched. 

Metello had already managed to save a 
nice little sum, and began to dream of a 
comfortable, spacious work-room of his own, 
wherein he would diligently ply needle and 
thread, while his dear Guiseppa looked after 
the house. 

For this boy had already a sweetheart, who 
VaL *.— e* 

was as slim, as black-haired, and as bright- 
eyed as himself, These young folk had been 
thrown together in the most natural way. 
Guiseppa was a little sewing maiden in the 
same house that held Master Nadelli's work- 
room. Her master was a rich merchant It 
was through their frequent meetings in the 
house that these two learned to know and 
love one another. 

One day there came into the work-room a 
tall, dignified-looking man, who was no other 
than the famous singer, Vario, Metello had 
been out upon an errand, and, as he re- 
entered the room, he overheard the stranger's 
inquiry : " Is that the singer, Master Nadelli ? " 

Nadelli, folding op his measure, made a 
low bow, rubbed his hands together, and said, 
with a simper : — 

" Yes, your Excellency, that is he ! That 
is our little Metello with the golden voice.*' 

Vario nodded, and left the work-room. A 
few days later, Metello was commissioned to 
carry home his new cloak. 

The renowned vocalist lodged in an aris- 
tocratic quarter The apprentice had the 
good fortune to find him at home. Having 
handed to the purchaser goods and bill, he 
waited to know if any alteration were needed, 

Vario tried on the mantle, which fitted 
admirably. He then took some money from 
a writing-table, and counted out the amount 
due to Nadelli. As Metello took the money, 
and was about to take also his departure, 

v ^raffiffr8f .#ter ins tone:_ 

4 2 


" Everyone praises your voice. Would 
you mind giving me some proof of your skill 
in singing ? * 

"Why not, signore ? n said the pleased 
Metello- " I will sing you a little mountain 

u No ! I hear too many songs every day. 
Sing only the scale s beginning as low and 
ending as high as you can/' 

Metello obeyed. His chest-notes rang out 
full and strong ; then came throat and head 
notes, until he had reached the high C 
With that he paused. 

" Can you go no farther ? " asked Vario, 
whose keen eyes had been fixed upon the 

"I will try," was 
the answer, and the 
next moment a clear, 
true D rang through 
the chamber. The 
listener stopped the 
boy with an approv- 
ing nod. 

"You ha v e a 
capital voice ! " said 
Vario; "that I know 
now for myself. 
Have you never 
thought of being 
trained for a singer?" 

" No ; I would 
rather remain a 
tailor," returned 
Metello, naively. 

" But with such 
a voice as yours you 
could gain more in 
a single night than 
you could earn by 
your needle in a 
whole year ! " 

" Is that really possible ? " 

" I assure you that with a little cultivation 
your voice, in less than five years' time, will 
have brought you in as much as a million of 

u A million ? " queried the apprentice, 
" And how much may that be ? " 

He listened in astonishment to Various 
attempt at explanation. 

"If you had a million, you could live in 
a magnificent mansion containing many 
rooms, you could drive out in a carriage and 
four, with coachman and grooms." 

"Ah ! " ejaculated Metello, drawing a long 
breath; "that would indeed be rather dif- 
ferent to sitting all one's life in a stupid work- 
room, handling a paltry needle and thread ! " 

"And what is there to hinder you from 
beginning at once? I will speak to the 
maestri of the Opera-house this very day. 
You must devote some hours daily to sing- 
ing, and it will be an odd thing if in a 
few weeks' time you are not competent to 
take an important part. Do not lose your 
chance ! It is every man's duty to try his 

" There I agree with you ! " responded 

Metello, as he grasped the other's outstretched 

hand. " You are perfectly right ; it is every 

man's duty to try his luck." 

Upon the following day the 


lessons began. The thin, old 
singing master, with the long, 
grey beard, rough head of hair, 


and deep-set black eyes, worked the lad so hard, 
that at first he often cast back longing, regretful 
thoughts to the quiet t peaceful work-room. 

Again and again, until he was sick of them, 
he was made losing the scales; then followed 
the intervals— thirds, fourths, fifths, sixths, 
and sevenths. To Metello, accustomed to 
warble, like a wild bird, at his own sweet will, 
this discipline was a positive purgatory. 

Hut ihtr old teacher, (liacomo, slid that he 
w T as making progress, and, thus encouraged, 
he plodded steadily on. 

In the course of a few weeks, Metello was 
taking a small role in the Opera, and drawing 
a regular salary. He had surmounted the 
initial difficulties-, and now that the way lay 



his endeavours, bent upon doing his utmost 
to reach the highest possible pitch of perfec- 
tion in his art. 

Hence it is not surprising that Metello 
grew popular, and became at length the 
darling of the public. His wonderful voice, 
with its power to stir men's souls to their 
very depths — the plastic grace of his move- 
ments — the charm of his personality — all 
these were so original, so fresh, so fascinating, 
that men spoke with reverence of the hand- 
some youth as the gift of Heaven, the singer 
by the grace of God, 

At the age of twenty, the quondam tailor's 
apprentice was a famous artiste, who visited 
his former master's shop only when in 



need of a new suit of clothes. Upon such 
occasions, both master and men, much 
impressed hy his grand appearance, carefully 
avoided any allusion to the past. Many a 
youthful maiden's heart throbbed faster at 
.sound of his name, but he thought no other 
equal to his Guisept^ either in beauty or 
goodness. And Guiseppa, on her part, pre- 
ferred Metello to all others, For his sake 
she had refused the hand of many a well-to- 
do tradesman's son, and she was as proud of 
him as a queen-consort of a Royal conqueror. 
They were to be married shortly, and 
Guiseppa was a poor sewing-maiden no 
longer, but inhabited luxurious rooms in a 

grand house, the windows of which com- 
manded a magnificent view of the Grand 
Canal with its cupolas and palaces. She 
kept a lady's-maid and a cook, and had 
nothing to do but drive out, read novels, 
sing, and play on the mandoline. And yet 
she was never quite happy unless her lover 
was at her side, 

" I only wish that I could do as you desire, 
and remain with you, dear Guiseppa ! But 
that is impossible ! I must appear in the 
Opera p must sing and act, because I am paid 
for doing so." 

So spoke Metello one day, and Guiseppa 
replied : — 

dear Carlo, 1 understand. Go to 
your duty ! You are the 
popular favourite, and your 
worshippers naturally want to 
see you every day." 

And she bade him a laugh- 
ing, loving adieu. 

As Metello betook himself 
to the theatre, an evil spirit 
entered into him; rebellious 
thoughts for the first time 
found lodgment in his mind. 
" This is now the third even- 
ing upon which I have been 
made to perform for the de- 
lectation of the Republic's 
guest, the Duke of Arvenni. 
It is too bad ! I will not 
submit to much more of it ; I 
am determined that I will not 
sing to-morrow at any price I " 
Upon the following evening 
he was again with his Guiseppa. 
They sat together upon the 
velvet -covered couch in loving 
talk, heedless of the flight of 
time, until at length Guiseppa, 
with a glance at the clock, 
said : — 
11 Have you not to sing to-night, Metello ?" 
"Yes, my child," replied Metello, care- 
lessly ; 41 1 am expected to take the principal 
part in to-night's opera," 

" Then go, dearest Carlo ! Do not neglect 
your duty." 

11 Pooh ! " He laughed scornfully. " For 
once I mean to brave the proud Senate, and 
if to sing this evening does not happen to 
suit my convenience, I shall leave it alone ! " 
" Metello ! " exclaimed Guiseppa, in dis- 
may. " What unhappy spirit is this which 
has taken possession of you ? You will defy 
the Senate, the awful Council of Ten, whose 
authority none ever resisted with impunity ? " 





" Yes ! " cried the young man, bombasti- 
cally. " I will defy the awful Council of 
Ten ! What can they do to me, the pet of 
the public ? Were they to murder me in 
secret, they would kindle a firebrand in 
Venice which they would find it not easy to 
extinguish ! Ha ! ha ! Venice would not 
tamely submit to be robbed of her joy, her 
idol, her Metello ! " 

" Metello ! my beloved ! be cautious, I 
beseech you ! " implored poor Guiseppa, in 
an agony of terror. "1 saw at dusk the 
black gondola gliding by on the gloomy 
water. It passed close below me — a grim 
picture of death. That was no good omen ! " 

" Nonsense ! What is there to alarm you, 
my darling ? No one will rob you of your 
Carlo. His fame is too great and well 
established, he is too much respected by 
young and old, high and low. Calm your- 
self, dearest girl ! None will dare to harm 
the renowned tenor, Metello ! Even the 
ruthless bandits of the mountains would not 
lift a hostile hand against him ! " 

He drew his love gently to him, kissed the 
cloud from her brow, and resumed his wonted 
gaiety and good-humour, until he had 
succeeded in allaying her fears. 

W T hen, late that night, he returned to his 
own dwelling, he inquired of his servant 
what had transpired in his absence. The 
theatre had been full to suffocation. The 
stranger-duke, the ambassadors, all the most 
wealthy and influential citizens of the 
Republic, were assembled in the boxes for 
the purpose of hearing the famous Metello, 
but he did not appear. 

The audience had waited patiently enough 
for a full hour, when the old, much-respected 
maestro, who for so many years had acted as 
manager, and always to the complete satis- 
faction of the public and of the critics, came 
forward and announced, almost with tears in 
his eyes, that the opera could not be pro- 
ceeded with, as Signore Metello was absent 
from the theatre, and could not be found at 

Metello laughed to himself, and rubbed 
his hands together complacently as, with long 
strides, he paced to and fro in his chamber. 
What a triumph ! It was Ae, Metello, who 
had dared thus to treat the haughty Senate 
and the diplomatic corps ! How delightful 
it was to think that all would soon hear of 
and marvel at this act of temerity ! 

" I have conquered I " he exclaimed, aloud 
and joyously. Ah ! sanguine, thoughtless, 
fool-hardiness of youth ! Silly Metello ! 
Have you not reflected that in your grand 

endeavour to show yourself original, interest- 
ing, capricious, and independent, you have 
insulted not the aristocracy only, but also the 
people — the people ! from whose stock you 
yourself sprang — the people, to whom you 
owe your wealth and fame, and whom you 
justly consider your true friends ? 

" No ! " said he to himself, c< I will not sing 
to-morrow night either. It does not do to 
make oneself too common ! Therefore, I 
will not sing again just yet Let them see 
how they can get on without me ! " 

The next evening he sat again with 
Guiseppa. She was ignorant of the new 
risk incurred by her lover, who had told her 
that he was not needed to sing on that night 
Nevertheless, she felt strangely uneasy, and 
when Metello rose to go, she clung to him in 
the anxiety of her farewell. 

"Oh ! " she sobbed, " I am so terrified, so 
unspeakably afraid for you ! " 

He tried to reassure her. " Be calm, 
sweetheart; the beloved of Metello the re- 
nowned can have nothing to fear ! " 

When they had parted at last, Metello 
descended the wide staircase, and went out. 
The moon was glorifying the heavens. For 
a moment he stood, drawing in deep breaths 
of air ; then he ran down the steps, and 
hailed the gondola rocking on the glistening 

" Ho ! Alessandro ! are you asleep ? Let 
us hasten home ! " The gondolier gave an 
odd little grunt He was protected from the 
chill of the night air by the folds of a huge 
cloak, which effectually screened his face 
from observation. But Metello was too 
much occupied with his own thoughts to 
bestow any scrutiny upon his companion, as 
the latter, with rapid strokes, propelled his 
small craft along the Grand Canal. 

Houses, churches, palaces glided by like 
the views of a magic lantern. The lighted 
windows here and there, the roofs and cupolas 
bathed in the pure, ethereal moonlight, with 
the blue, star-spangled heavens over all, 
composed a glorious night-scene. 

" Stop, Alessandro ! this is not the Villa 
Metello ; that is the palace of the Doges ! 
Foolish fellow ! Whither have you brought 

" To the palace of the Doges, signore, sure 
enough. Assembled above is a numerous 
company, who await your arrival." 

Something in the tone of the strange 
voice sent a cold shiver through the singer's 

" Who are you ? " -ofo? demanded, with 
quivering* lips, of the gondolier, 



There was no answer The unknown was 
busying himself with his gondola, which he 
brought up close to the stone steps. Then, 
with an imperative wave of his hand, he 
motioned Metello to ascend* Above stood 
two men, wrapped in long cloaks. Metello 
recognised the livery of the servants of the 

M Follow us, signore/' said one of these, 
"without delay. Your presence is impatiently 
desired. 1 ' 

All kinds of possible explanations flitted 
through the tenor's brain, His heart beat 
loudly ; his conscience told him that he had 
acted unwisely. In silence he followed his 
guides. There was nothing else to be done ; 
resistance, or any attempt to escape, would 
have been worse than useless. Up stairs, 
down stairs, they went, passing through large 
and desolate apartments, in which their foot- 
steps evoked eerie echoes. At length they came 
to a chamber of more inviting aspect, where 
the light of innumerable candles was reflected 
in the mirror-lined walls. The profuse 
ornamentation in gold, the rich colours of the 
numerous pictures and frescoes, heightened 
the general impression of luxury. The 
middle of the room was occupied by a long 
marble table, upon which, between epergnes 
filled with magnificent flowers, stood flagons 
of wine and punch, and dishes heaped with 

choice viands. Evidently this accumulation 
of delicacies had been prepared for a party 
of the most refined epicures. 

About twenty handsomely-dressed gentle- 
men of various ages were seated around the 
table, apparently doing full justice to the 
tempting repast. They seemed to be enjoy- 
ing themselves immensely* Laughter, toasts, 
and merry jests rang out bravely, but in all 
these the singer's practised ear detected a 
discordant note of incongruity, a latent vul- 
garity which smacked of the stable, and 
seemed strangely at variance with the pre- 
sumably high rank of the feasters, 

Tt may well be imagined that the sight of 
such a banquet as this did not tend to 
diminish Metello's alreadv somewhat keen 
appetite. As soon, therefore, as he perceived 
an empty chair next to that of the gentleman 
who appeared to be acting as president, he 
unhesitatingly strode towards it, and was 
about to seat himself therein, when the old 
man exclaimed, sharply : — 

" Not so fast, young sir ! Not before you 
sing ! " 

Metello stepped back at once, with a 
stiff : (t I thank you, but decline the honour ! " 

** Not a morsel without a song ! " reiterated 
the president, wheeling round in his chair 

In gloomy silence stood the singer, gnaw- 
ing his under-lip in impotent rage. What 1 



4 6 


did they treat him thus ?~Aim t the greatest 
singer in Venice ? Would they force him 
by means of hunger to exhibit to them 
his divine gift ? Should he sing for a piece of 
bread, like a street-beggar ? No! a thousand 
times no ! " Sooner would I die," he ex- 
claimed, " than so lower myself." And he 
drew further back. 

Nobody seemed to heed him. The eating, 
drinking, and joking went on without inter- 
ruption. Merrily clinked the glasses j louder 
and more frequent were the peals of foolish 

At length, however, it grew gradually quiet. 
One by one the guests 
slipped out of the room, 
to sleep off elsewhere the 
effects of the wine they 
had taken. The hungry 
man's last hope of snatch- 
ing a morsel from the 
remains vanished as the 
servants instantly swooped 
upon them, devouring 
with marvellous celerity 
until nothing at all was 

Soon Metello was alone* 
All the candles had been 
extinguished, and the big, 
empty banqueting-hall was 
illuminated only by the 
pale moon-rays which 
streamed in at the win- 
dow. The weary man had ^ 
thrown himself into an ' 
arm-chair, and now the 
night's scenes passed in 
succession before his in- 
ward eye. He pictured 
to himself the sensation 
which his non-appearance 
at the theatre must have 
occasioned, Then he 
thought sadly and long- 
ingly of his own cosy 
little smoking-room, in which he was wont 
to enjoy every evening a substantial meal 
He really was dreadfully hungry ! During 
the hours spent in the company of Guiseppa, 
he had eaten little or nothing. He had 
been fasting since midday. Sorrowfully he 
realized that one cannot subsist solely upon 

After this he fell asleep, and slept for 
some hours, at the end of which he awoke 
with stiff limbs, to see that the sun was 
already shining into the room. Again he 
beheld the long table, laid anew for breakfast. 

The delicious aroma of the fragrant coffee 
caressed his nostrils. How pretty the porce- 
lain looked ! how tempting the viands ! 

Then the same men who had been there 
on the previous night entered the room, 
seated themselves at the table, and ate and 
drank with an appetite that betokened an 
excellent digestion. 

"Perhaps you will sing nowt* inquired 
the old gentleman, of Metello. 

" No ! " answered the singer, stoutly, 
although tormented by hunger and thirst. 

When the meal was finished, the servants 
again disposed of every drop and crumb. 


" Shameful ! iJ said Metello, when he was 
left alone, gnashing his teeth. ts They are 
deliberately laying siege to me, and think to 
starve me out. But I will not sing 1 Come 
what may, I will not sing ! J will show the 
world that even a stage-hero may be capable 
of courageous endurance, I will not sur- 
render! What would Venice — what would 
the world — say, did the famous Metello 
barter his lordly talent, his noble art, for a 
supper or a dinner? I will never sing upon 
such terms ! Le:1: us see whether they will 
dare to^tr^^t.J^CI^^public pos~ 



sesses die of hunger ! Ah ! my high and 
mighty lords of the Senate, it would not be 
easy to replace me ; to find another artiste of 
my rank ! 

When the midday hour came round, 
another sumptuous meal was served, Metello 
still playing the role of Tantalus, He felt 
horribly sick and faint. Remarks such as 
the following were circulated around the 
table: "How are you getting on, duke? 
May I offer you a slice of this tasty venison ? H 
" No, marquis ! I shall remain faithful to 
this tender, excellent veal-chop." "Some of 
this pastry, count? I have never tasted any 
to equal it ! " " Ah ! this is caviare ; thanks ! 
thanks ! dear Doria ! " " What a delicately- 
flavoured lobster I " "A magnificent fellow, 
th ; s pheasant ! " "I assure you, count, this 
beef-steak is marvellously well-cooked ! " 

And so on T ad nauseam. Such a clatter 
of glass and crockery, such a babel of 
tongues, Metello had never heard before. 
All talked at once, each with his note of 
exclamation : u Superb ! 3i " Magnificent ! P3 
" Delicious ! " It was for the starving singer 
not difficult to discern that these rapturous 
ejaculations, in cruel mockery, were spoken at 

It was over at last, and the "stage-hero" 
(as he had styled himself) was alone once 
more. He began now to admit to himself 
that he was paying an exorbitant price for 
the preservation of his precious dignity. He 
had had no idea that 
hunger was such a 
painful thing ! 

Nevertheless, he 
did not as yet waver 
in his determination 
to hold out, and win 
in the end the vic- 
tor's laurel-crown. 
When that evening's 
banquet began, he 
averted his face and 
stopped his ears, in 
order to exclude 
both sight and sound, 

That night he got 
no real sleep, but 
was haunted by 
phantoms. On all 
sides exquisite dain- 
ties danced before 
his fevered eyes. 
Roasted capons, 
geese and pheasants, 
harts and roes 
dressed for dinner, 

performed a quadrille before him. But, alas ! 
when he put forth his hand to take them, he 
grasped only empty air ! 

With grotesque springs and leaps, they 
eluded him and escaped, while peals of 
derisive laughter rang through the salon. 

Morning dawned, and the routine of the 
preceding day was repeated. The hour of 
noon found the company re-assembled around 
the table, before the food and wine* 

When they had all taken their places, the pre- 
sident, glass in hand, rose to propose a toast, 

"My dear friends! Let us drink to the 
health of every one of us — to the healthy and 
prolonged existence of our eating apparatus ! 
And may we long be permitted to enjoy the 
pleasures of this well-appointed table ! ,J 

Thus far the president He got no 
farther. For at this moment a solemn, long- 
drawn-out sound, like that of an extremely 
clear- toned bell, vibrated through the cham- 
ber, causing the gentlemen to exchange 
knowing looks. Yes, it was a fact ! Metello, 
the obstinate* one, was singing at last ! He 
sang a bravura aria f and, goaded by the 
pangs of hunger, was better even than usual. 

A nightingale could not have executed 
more beautiful trills and runs, and the men 
listened delightedly. When he had ended 
his song the president advanced toward him, 
bearing a full wine-glass in his hand. 

" Bravo, signore 1 well sung ! Your health, 
my esteemed Signore Metello ! In the name 


W*"* rn wj||fTflw^ l ' |r 'l|l[lll|l^f^'l w 7 

, Original from '/ 





of the company you see here assembled, I 
invite you to a place at our board." 

Metello drank off the wine hastily, then 
took the chair next that of the president. 
He felt new life coursing through his veins. 
He heaped his plate with food, and dined 
with inexpressible satisfaction, paying no 
attention whatever to the conversation of his 

The long and painful struggle was over. It 
seemed to him, however, that there was a 
spice of malice in the amused looks turned 
upon him. The president's own eyes twinkled 
as he asked Metello (who, having finished his 
long-deferred meal, was now drumming with 
his knife upon the empty plate) : "With whom, 
think you, my respected Signore Metello, have 
you been dining ? " 

"With whom?" repeated the tenor, in 

" Yes, with whom ? " chuckled the other. 

"I can scarcely be mistaken upon that 

"With whom, then?" 

" I think I may safely affirm this much : 
that I have the pleasure of beholding here 
his most Illustrious Highness the Duke of 
Arvenni, with the representatives of our 
glorious Republic and of the foreign powers, 
who have been good enough to organize a 
private soirie in recognition of my humble 
talent " 

Here he was unceremoniously interrupted 
by a roar of laughter from the president, in 
which all the others joined with almost 
terrifying vehemence. 

" Do not alarm yourself, signore," said one 
of them, laughing still, as he motioned to 
the old gentleman that he should keep 
silence, " not with the Ix>rd Duke, not with 
representatives of the Republic, not " 

" With whom, then, in the name of 
wonder ? " demanded the impatient Metello. 

" Guess once more." 

" Why this torture ? Oh ! tell me quickly ! w 

" Well, then — you have had the gratifica- 
tion of dining with the public executioner 
and his servants." 

" With them f " stammered the tenor, with 
a dazed look. The thing appeared to him 
scarcely credible ; he suspected a hoax. 

" With the executioner of Venice and his 
assistants. Ha ! ha ! ha ! he ! he ! he ! " 
tittered, roared, and shouted they around 
him, while Metello, beside himself with 
terror and indignation, sprang up, and with 
hair standing on end, darted back into his 
old comer. 

" Let this be a warning to you, young 
man ! " continued the executioner, in a graver 
tone. " The people, whose favourite you are, 
demand satisfaction, and the Senate could 
not entirely shirk the duty of punishing you. 
It has been decided to pass over, for once, 
your refusal to sing as a piece of youthful 
folly ; hence you come out of the affair with 
a whole skin. You have just now eaten with 
the executioner of Venice. A second meet- 
ing with him might prove less pleasant, and 
have a more tragical termination. Beware, 
therefore, of repeating your experiment. 
You refused point-blank to sing, imagining 
yourself capable of heroic endurance, yet 
you have been conquered by your own need- 
Mark well the lesson ; he who would with- 
stand the will of the Republic must have 
other nerves than yours — and also another 
spirit. Now go — in peace ! " 

A servant stepped forward, and conducted 
the singer, whose cheeks burned with shame, 
out of the house. Without a word, Metello 
departed, and made his way to his own 
home, which for some days he did not quit, 
pleading indisposition as a reason for receiv- 
ing no one. 

In a very short time, however, he was back 
again at the Opera, playing his old parts, and 
as much of a favourite as ever. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Behind the Speakers Chair, 

xxi i r. 





SOME weeks before Easter Ihe 
occasional illness of Mr- Speaker 
Peel, alternating with an attack 
of influenza suffered by the 
Deputy Speaker, brought into sharp promi- 
nence the danger that ever hovers above the 
House of Commons consequent upon exists 
ing arrangements with respect to the Chair. 
As far as Committee of the whole House is 
concerned, there is nothing to fear in the 
way of interruption of business consequent 
on the illness of the Chairman of Ways and 
Means. He has a corps of Deputies formally 
appointed at the beginning of each Session. 
When Mr. Mellor has been temporarily 
absent from the Chair owing to sickness, or 
in search of an hour's much-needed rest, one 
or other of these gentlemen takes his place, 
and business goes forward without a hitch. 
The arrangement is desirable in many ways 
other than that for which it was originally 
designed. It is an admirable training school 

for budding Chairmen and possible Speakers. 
It is comforting to the House to discover what 

wealth of resource it has in this matter, since 

of the members accidentally selected for the 

post of Deputy Chairman, each has during 

this Session displayed peculiar aptitude. 
With the Speakership matters 

are essentially different. When, 

shortly after the opening of the 

Session, Mr. Peel was confined 

to his house by indisposition, 

only Mr, Mellor might take the 

Chair, Supposing his health 

had failed at this time, the 

House of Commons would have 

been obliged to close its doors, 

public business awaiting the 

convalescence of either the 

Speaker or his Deputy. Possibly 

even in such circumstances, 

supposing the term were not 

too far prolonged, the world 

would have gone round as 

heretofore, and the firmament 

would have looked on unwink- 
ing. Still, the crisis would 

have been a little ludicrous, 

VoL t— T. 

the more deeply regretted because it would 
be so easy to reduce the possibility of its 
occurrence by nominating at least two Deputy 

The advances of the Speaker- 
interreg- elect to the full dignity and 
num. authority of the Chair are ordered 
with painful anxiety. His first 
approach is made when his election is 
declared, and his proposer and seconder are 
required to " take him by the hand and lead 
him to the Chair." In the House of 
Commons there are structural difficulties in 
the way of carrying out this injunction. In 
the case of Mr. Gully, he, awaiting the 
result of the contest for the Speakership, 
took up his quarters in his customary 
modest retreat on a back bench behind 
Ministers- It was physically impossible for 
mover and seconder there to approach him, 
and, each taking a hand, trip up to the Chair 
as if they were going a-Maying. What 
happened was that Mr. Whkbread with 
difficulty threaded his way among members 
seated on the gangway steps and, "making 
a long arm," as they say in Cork, clasped Mr* 
Gully*s outstretched hand, and so conveyed 
him to the table. 





the seconder 

Not to speak profanely, 
this preliminary process of 
installing the Speaker was 
awkwardly akin to what is 
known in the parlance of 
certain style of clothing 
establishments as "a 
reach-me-down." When 
Mr, Whi thread had con- 
veyed his precious charge 
as far as the table, fresh 
difficulty presented itself. 
There was Mr. Birrell, the 
seconder, waiting to play 
his part in conducting the 
Speaker-elect to the Chair. 
But not two, much less 
three, members might 
walk abreast between the 
Treasury Bench and the 
table of the House of 
Commons. Accordingly, 
after a little hesitation, the 
proposer went first, the 
Speaker -elect followed, and 
brought up the rear. 

Not yet was Mr, Gully to take the Chain 
Standing on the steps, with one foot on the 
topmost flight, he halted to thank the House 
for the honour done him. This attitude is a 
curious illustration of the ingrained con- 
servatism of the House of Commons in all 
that relates to its ritual or procedure. There 
was no reason in the world why the more 
natural course should not have been taken 
of the Speaker-elect standing squarely on the 
dais upon which the Speak er's Chair is set. 
Somewhere in the dim and distant ages 
came a new Speaker, with fine dramatic 
instinct, who, elected to the high position 
and led to the Chair, faltered on the top- 
most step overwhelmed by sense of his 
own unworthiness. In this attitude he 
stood humbly to return thanks, and there 
and thus, for all time since, the Speaker-elect 
has stood in attitude of approach, unable to 
take another step till he has unburdened his 
soul of the gratitude with which it overflows. 

As soon as the Speaker-elect has made 
this little speech, always in the same words, 
passed on from lips long silent, he takes the 
last step and seats himself in the Chair, Mean- 
while, pending the election of the Speaker, 
the Mace has been suspended on the hooks 
attached to the front, upon which it reposes 
whilst the House is in Committee. The 
Speaker-elect being seated, the Serjeant-at- 
Arms advances, lifts the Mace, and places it 
on the table in token that the House is now 


in full Session. The con- 
sequent proceedings are 
commendably brief, con- 
sisting of the proposal 
u That this House do 
now adjourn." 
Next time the Speaker-elect 
appears in the House of 
Commons he comes in semi- 
State. He is met in his room 
by the Serjeant-at-Arms, the Mace on 
his shoulder, accompanied by the Chap- 
lain in full canonicals. He is attired 
in Court dress, with knee-breeches, silk 
stockings, silver-buckled shoes, and a 
bob wig of the kind barristers wear 
when pleading in court. A procession 
is formed, the Speaker coming first, the 
Serjeant-at-Arms and Mace following 
after. When the Speaker makes this 
daily journey his progress is announced 
by stentorian cry of " Mr. Speaker ! " 
passed on from policeman to messenger. 
On his reappearance on the scene after 
his election , Mr. Gully was heralded with cry 
of "Mr. Speaker-elect ! " a formula observed 
till he had been in the House of Lords and 
there, by the action of the Lords Commis- 
sioners, received "Her Majesty's Royal 
allowance and confirmation of the choice 
made by her faithful Commons," There- 
after he was " Mr, Speaker," and, exchanging 
the bob wig for a full-bottomed one, put on 
the flowing robe, which adds inexpressible but 
irresistible dignity to the office of Speaker* 

It is a confession sad to make, hut 

, it is indubitably true, that business 

in the House of Commons would 


proceed much less smoothly if 
thought. j ts deliberations were presided 




over by a gentleman attired in ordinary 
morning dress. This great truth is recognised 
in the case of the Chairman of Committees, 
He may not compete with the majesty of the 
Speaker in wig and gown. But he is required, 
when presiding in Committee, to appear in 
evening dress, even though it be a morning 
sitting. This monotonous regulation proved 
so irritating to the sensitive mind of Mr. 
Courtney that, midway in his career of Chair- 
man of Ways and Means, he invented the 
famous blue coat with two brass buttons at 
the back, which still lends an air of culture 
to dinner tables and sometimes graces evening 
parties. To take part in the amenities of social 
life in the attire officially connected with 
his Parliamentary office was to invest life with 
a strain of unendurable monotony, With the 
famous buff waistcoat worn 
by day, and the blue coat 
with two brass buttons at the 
back by night, Mr- Courtney 
threaded his way through life 
with the quiet assurance that 
lapped the wandering Israel- 
ites in rest what time they 
beheld the sentinel cloud by 
day and the pillar of fire by 

The late Sir Pat- 

pat rick O'Brien was 

o^brien. not known to the 

present House of 
Commons, which is its dis- 
tinct loss. Of all the varied 
types with which the genius 
of Ireland diversified the 
Parliaments of 1874 and 
1880, Pat O'Brien, as he 
was universally and affec- 
tionately known, was unique. 
I have heard Mr, Joseph 
Co wen speak of him as an effective Parlia- 
mentary debater, even an orator. That goes 
back to a date earlier than my personal 
acquaintance with the man who for nearly 
forty years uninterruptedly sat for King's 
County, Even in his late manner there 
were not lacking flashes of genuine eloquence. 
The pity of it was that their effect was 
obscured by lack of continuity, sometimes of 

Imbued with reverence for Parliamentary 
forms and traditions, Sir Pat was one of the 
few Irish members who in the Parlia- 
ment of 1880 dissevered themselves from 
Mr Pamelas lead. Whilst that gentleman 
and the militant force of Irish Nationalists 
remained on the Opposition Benches, 


where the Dissolution had left them, Pat 
O'Brien, with Mr, Mitchell Henry, Mr. 
William Shaw, and two or three others, 
following ancient custom with Irish 
Liberals, crossed over in Mr, Gladstone's 
train, Sir Pat sat in the middle of the 
second bench behind Ministers, a position 
from which he was able to keep a scorn- 
ful, though not always pellucid, eye on 
his countrymen below the gangway opposite. 
He was even more delightful to them than 
to the rest of the House, since he afforded 
opportunity of keeping up a chorus of 
interruption whilst he spoke. With hands 
thrust deep in his trouser pocket s t his face 
sternly set in the direction of the Irish camp, 
sometimes his eye blazing with anger, often 
his lip curling with scorn at great thoughts 
not yet intelligibly expressed, 
Sir Pat was much to the fore 
in the Parliament of 1880-5. 
It was thus and from this 
place he one day enigmati- 
cally alluded to Mr. Mat 
Kenny as the "young sea- 
serpent from County Clare, 1 ' 
u Order I order ! " said the 
Speaker. "The honourable 
baronet's remarks are entirely 
out of place." 

"Then, sir," rejoined Sir 
Pat f with courtly bow to the 
Chair, " I withdraw the young 

The younger Redmond, 
at that epoch much more 
grotesque than he remains 
after a considerable course 
of Parliamentary training, was 
ever an object of Sir Pat's 
most furious indignation, 
" Humble animal as I 
am," he observed one night, with gesture of 
contempt towards the Parnellites, "1 am 
not about to assume the character of a lion. 
If I were to do so, I should select as my 
jackal the hon. member for Wexford (Mr. W. 

" Why ? Why ? " shouted the delighted 
Radicals below the gangway, 

" Why?" answered Sir Patrick, in a voice 
of thunder, "because I scarcely ever speak 
without his calling out £ Order! 1 " 

This, so precisely describing the functions 
and habits of the jackal, settled the matter, 

Mr. T. P. O'Connor, not beyond suspicion 
of writing for a Dublin paper certain London 
correspondence in which the member for 

^\\tiimrm Midir"^ was 



another object of Sir Pat's fiery aversion. 
What lent a special charm to his assaults on 
the enemy was their unexpectedness. One 
night, contributing a luminous speech in 


Committee on the vote for the salary of 
National School teachers in Ireland, Sir Pat, 
looking across the floor, happened to observe 
Mr. O'Connor laughing. Like a flash of 
lightning he was upon him, 

** As the modern Plutarch who writes in 
the Freeman V Journal 'says that I am generally 
unintelligible, of course a Plutarch at ten 
guineas a week must be a much greater man 
than a Greek Plutarch." 

It was in this same debate that Sir 
Patrick, always effective in his gibes at 
the pecuniary relations of the Pa rn el lite 
members with their constituents, and with 
what he described as "the great army of 
servant girls in the United States," ascended 
to what was T even for him, an incomparable 
flight of eloquence. 

" All persons in Ireland," he said, oracu- 
larly nodding his head, lt whether Orangemen 
or Nationalists, or Whigs or Protestants, or 
members of the faith — if any faith were 
left in the country — or whether they belong 
to that still larger number which is waiting 
upon Providence, waiting to see whether the 
wind will always blow from the west across 
the Atlantic— all these ought to unite in 
promoting education." 

Whilst the puzzled House was trying to 
follow this line of thought, Sir Pat, raising 
his voice and solemnly shaking his forefinger 
at his compatriots opposite, continued : "The 
wind may possibly blow across the Atlantic 
in a way very unpleasant for some people, 


notwithstanding the grand vertebrae and the 
big faces that I have so often heard thrown 
in the teeth of the Irish race," 

In these prosaic times it is for- 
gotten how Sir Pat nearly fore- 
stalled Mr, Arthur Balfour in 
making an end of Mr, Wm. 
'O'Brien, It was during the 
stormy Session of 1884, The House was 
still sitting, though the dawn of a mid- 
summer day was struggling with the gas- 
light. The Bill under discussion dealt 
with the revision of jurors' and voters' 
list in the County of Dublin. Sir Pat 
had been dining out, and had, apparently, 
also been supping. It was three o'clock in 
the morning when he inta-posed, though on 
which side he spoke I forget, if indeed I ever 
was able to find out. His remarks being 
interrupted by Mr. T, Harrington, Sir 
Patrick turned aside to confide in the ear of 
Sir Arthur Otway (then in the Chair) the 
information that " Tim Harrington was carry- 
ing parcels at three -and-sixpence a week, 
whilst he (Sir Patrick) represented King's 
County in Parliament." 

Subsiding for a short time, Sir Patrick 
waked up, and, looking across the House, his 
eye chanced to rest upon Mr* W. O'Brien, 
sitting half asleep. The more closely he 
regarded him the more certain he became 
that it was he, not Mr, Harrington, who, 
half an hour ago ? had said something dis- 
respectful about him. Sir Arthur Otway, 
rising to put the question that the clause 
under discussion stand part of the Bill, Sir 
Patrick jumped up, and thrusting his hands 
deeper than ever in his pockets, said, in 
blood-curdling voice : — 

M Mr, Otway I" (It was too late at night 
for Sir Pat to remember that the Chairman of 
Committees had been knighted.) "The hon. 
member for Mallow just now interrupted me, 
and I desire now to give him an opportunity 
of explaining what he meant" 

Then, leaning forward as if he would clutch 
at Mr, O'Brien's throat across the House, he 
shouted, " What do you want ? " 

Mr- O'Brien rubbed his eyes and began to 
wake up. 

"What do you want?" Sir Pat shouted, 
again* " What do you want ? " he roared, for 
the third time of asking. 

" If the hon, baronet," said Mr. O'Brien, 
in blandest manner and softest tones s " is at 
all curious as to what I mean, I will be glad 
to let him know some day in King's County." 

"Sir Arthur Otway/ 1 said Sir Patrick, 
puncti Wl f R ^^ng [|C ^ A pairm a n of 



Committees in the conversation, and now 
remembering his title, "there is a much less 
distance than King's County at which the 
hon. member can ascertain what I think of 
him, and how I will deal with him." 

Things beginning to look serious, the 
Chairman sternly interposed, and Sir Pat 
was reduced to silence. But it was only 
temporary* The debate continuing, the 
Committee was from time to time conscious 
of a voice breaking in on the ordered speech 
of the member on his feet, ** Afraid?" it 
inquired, in a loud stage whisper. When- 
ever, for the next quarter of an hour, there 
was a lull in the conversation, this whispered 
inquiry, u Afraid ? " 
resounded through 
the House. 

It came from Sir 
Pat, who, again lean- 
ing forward, was in- 
tently, with mocking 
smile, watching Mr. 
O'Brien, who severely 
ignored his existence. 
The Chairman inter- 
posing with increasing 
sternness, Sir Pat rose 
and slowlv strolled 
down the House, 
pausing before the 
bench where Mr. 
O'Brien sat and bec- 
koning him to follow, 
He spent some time 
in the outer lobby, 

walking up and down like an angry tiger await- 
ing its evening meaL The O'Gorman Mahon 
chancing to pass. Sir Patrick engaged his 
services as a second ; an arrangement of which 
he punctiliously informed Mr. O'Brien, taking 
it as a matter of course that he would 
make similar provisions on his own behalf. 
Judicious friends, interposing, got the irate 
baronet safely home, and Mr, O'Brien lived 
to suffer much in prison and, on his release, 
to carry on the Boulogne negotiations. 

At the Royal Academy banquet 
Lord Rosebery gave utterance to 
a sentiment which found an echo 
in the breast of the distinguished 
gathering of painters who sat at table. CL I 
venture to say/' the Prime Minister declared, 
"that you will never have a satisfactory 
portrait gallery unless you are able to give 
commissions to living painters to paint living 

The bearings of this observation lie in the 
application thereof. There are few living 




men whom painters would more gladly see 
sitting or standing before their easel than 
Lord Rosebery. And yet, in reply to in- 
cessant urgent entreaty, he will not supply the 
subject I have the pleased and proud re- 
flection that Lord Rosebery gave me the 
fullest proof of friendship when he went 
through the agony of sitting — or, to be more 
precise, of walking about—for his portrait 
to add to a little collection I have made 
upon the principle to which he gave 
pointed expression in his Academy speech. 
Doubtless he was, in this instance, be- 
guiled by the promise that there should be 
no tiresome posing, no prolonged sitting. 

The artist would 
camp out with easel 
in his study in Ber- 
keley Square, and 
paint him whilst he 
worked. This scheme 
has a double recom- 
mendation. Whilst it 
is the only one prac- 
ticable for the collabo- 
ration of busy men, 
the portrait, when 
complete, is free from 
the aspect and pose 
inseparable from the 
ordi nary circum- 
stances of portraiture. 
Here is the living, 
breathing man, with 
just the expression 
into which his face 
fell when engrossed in his daily work- 
in Lord Rosebery's case, as in some others 
dealt with in similar circumstances, the 
success of the experiment was complete. 
Only, as the painter confided to me, the task 
was one of peculiar difficulty and delicacy* 

11 If," said Mr, K A, Ward, " Lord Rose- 
bery when he walked out of the room (and 
he was always walking out of the room) 
hadn't shut the door after him, I could have 
got on much better. But you can't do any- 
thing with your subject at the other side of a 
closed door," 

In this respect of distaste for 

portraits being portrayed, either with 

of mr. G. brush or camera, Lord Rosebery 

much more closely resembles Lord 

Salisbury than he does his old chief and friend, 

Mr. Gladstone. There are many oil paintings 

and countless photographs of Mr. Gladstone. 

Lord Rosebery is the possessor of perhaps 

the most effective and picturesque— one 

in whic|ljKiMro-.1^ in the 



scarlet robes of his University office. 
Another portrait, now- hanging at Ha warden, 
was painted by Sir John Millais some six or 
seven years ago. It was a commission forth- 
coming from a subscription of the women of 
Great Britain and Ireland, Mr. Gladstone is 
represented having at his knee his grandson, 
the eldest boy of the late W, H, Gladstone. 
Still another portrait, by Holl, was given to 
Mr, Gladstone on 
the jubilee of his 
married life. With 
it was presented a 
portrait of Mrs. 
Gladstone, by Her- 
komer, the gifts 
being the offering 
of six-score old col- 
leagues or close 
personal friends. 
The late Lord Gran- 
ville, who at the 
private gathering at 
Spencer House was 
spokesman for the 
subscribers, re- 
marked that whilst 

he had known Mrs. Gladstone during the 
whole of the golden time that day celebrated, 
his acquaintance with Mr. Gladstone had ex- 
tended to a longer period, of which the last 
thirty- five years had given him the distinction 
of being intimate as a personal and political 
friendj a colleague, and a loyal follower. 

A portrait less well known, but of peculiar 
interest, is enshrined at Hawarden. It is by 
William Bradley, a name now forgotten, but 
in high repute sixty years ago. Painted ten 
years after Mr. Gladstone entered the House 
of Commons, at the time when he was still 
" the rising hope of stem, unbending Tory- 
ism," it presents a full-length figure, the arms 
folded, the fine, strong face, with its curate- 
like whiskers and abundant hair, set in deep 

Mr. Hubert Herkomer, R,A., 
has conceived a picture of Lord 
Rosebery which requires only the 
Premier's consent for realization 
on deathless canvas. The scene 
is the Prime Minister's room in Downing Street. 
The particular effect, alluring to the painter 
of the wonderful Burgomaster picture in the 
Royal Academy of this year, is the view from 
the window*. In his mind J s eye, Mr* 
Herkomer sees the living picture. At the 
table, at work among a pile of letters and 
documents, sits the Prime Minister, the 
head being relieved by the dark wall at the 


back, From the left side-window the light 
falls on the face, Mr, Herkomer's quick 
eye , surveying the room, noting the possi- 
bility of a bit of charming cross light 
from the right-hand window. It is from this 
window he would get the street scene, upon 
which he counts to make the picture unique 
among modern portraits. 

4i I feel inclined/' he said, with a tear in 

his voice, "to paint 
the chamber and 
the scene even 
without a Prime 
Minister. But, of 
course, it would be 
nothing without the 
living figure." 

Mr, Herkomer's 
idea, I should add, 
was conceived and 
communicated to 
me before Lord 
Rose be ry J s s peech 
at the Academy 
banquet The sen- 
tence quoted from 
that address seems 
to the dream of the 
hold out promise of 






to give peculiar point 
painter, and may even 
seeing it realized. 

Amongst the luxuries by addition 
of which Mr. Herbert Glad- 
stone, most diligent of First 
Commissioners, is endeavouring 
to vindicate the ancient claim of 
the House of Commons to be 
the best club in the world, is a contrivance 
whereby the names of successive speakers in 
current debate are signalled to the members' 
smoking-room. Being somewhat remote 
from the Chamber, members retiring thither 
run the risk of missing the utterance 
of a man whom they particularly desire to 
hear. The chance is not so constantly 
recurrent as to induce them to remain 
in attendance awaiting it. So they go off 
for a cigar, a game of chess, or a chat. 
Still, they would like to be assured that they 
are not missing anything, and this new device 
places them at their ease. 

It is on the principle of the tape lines at 
the clubs, which tick out strips of paper on 
which are printed the names of winning 
horses at the Derby, the latest prices on the 
Stock Exchange, fresh changes of the Ministry 
in France, and other items of current news. 

The scene in the smoking-room when the 
sudden ticking of the instrument signals that 

a na WMWc^tefffi$fi d forth is of 



never-failing interest. The latest orator has 
resumed his seat in the distant Chamber. 
The Speaker has called upon another 
member. Who is it ? All eyes are turned 
upon the instrument, laboriously, with much 
clicking, spelling out the name. 

il B" Arthur Balfour, perhaps ; he was ex- 
pected a little later, but may now have got up. 

"A." Yes, it's Balfour. 

*' R," clicks the instrument. No, its 
Hartley ; or Bar ran, someone suggests ; or 
Dunbar Barton, says another. 

" T* Ah ; George Christopher Trout 
Bartley, for a shilling, 

11 L ■ " E. n Yes, it's him, 

"T" "T." — goes the instrument, choking 
with emotion. 

Bartlett ! No need to wait for the Ellis 
Ashmead. The smoking-room knows the 
man from Sheffield, Pipes and cigars are 
once more puffed with pleased assurance, 
and the game of chess goes forward with the 
certainty that it will not be interrupted for a 
good hour,* 

It is probable that before oppor- 

pairing. tunity for carrying out his well- 
considered improvements closes 
for the present First Commissioner of 
Works, he will turn his attention to an 
inconvenience that bears heavily upon mem- 
bers nightly through a 
Session, It is the diffi- 
culty of obtaining pairs, 
either for the dinner- 
hour or for the current 
sitting. Probably, on 
the average of a night, 
there are a hundred 
men on either side who 
either have dinner 
arrangements, or, not 
being interested in the 
proceedings of the sit- 
ting, would like to clear 
out after questions are 

over, No division may be pending. But 
in order to avoid accidents it is necessary 
that members from either side temporarily 
withdrawing from the scene should be paired* 
The Whips do what they can to assist their 
friends, but there is no ordered system 
adequate to meet the necessity of the hour. 
Members, agonized by the near approach of 
their dinner engagement, wander about the 
lobby, pace the corridors, search through 
smoking-room, library, and newspaper-room 
for a pair. 

It is quite possible, indeed, it frequently 
happens, that a member may meet a friend 
from the other side forlornly bent on exactly 
the same errand. But there is no outward 
and visible sign about a man who wants a 
pair. Thus the two go by like ships that pass 
in the night. I once, somewhere, suggested 
that members in search of a pair should wear 
a rosette or bit of ribbon in their button-hole 
— say blue for Tory and yellow for Liberal. 
Coming together in such circumstances, two 
men would forthwith be made happy. The 
proposal, made half in jest, was, I believe, 
seriously considered. But nothing came 
of it 

A not less simple and perhaps more 
practical way out of the difficulty would be 
that a book should be placed in the library 
or reading-room, where- 
in a member desiring 
a dinner pair, or a pair 
for the night, might 
enter his name on one 
side of a double column ; 
a member of the oppo- 
site party, consumed by 
identical desire, writing 
his name against it. 
Thus pairs would be 
settled with a minimum 
of inconvenience, the 
saving of much valuable 
time, and needless worry. 


{^rwoh* Original from 

An Illustration of this instrument will b* f^MJ'jffiM|'W' OF MICH IG A N 

U BEN 5s 

\^ _) «? The 

,***.. j4pi 

By Mrs. Skew 



HE morning sun was shining 
on the fair Alsatian landscape, 
on chestnut wood and budding 
orchard, and the distant blue 
hi Ik that formed a background 
to the picturesque village of 
Mittelbroun, nestling at the foot of the hill 
on which arose one of those quaint old 
chateaux, so often to be seen in France : 
whitewashed, covering a considerable extent 
of ground, with brilliant red-tiled turrets at 
each angle, the whole surmounted by a tall 
old keep in the centre. The edifice looked 
imposing in the distance ; but, at nearer 
sight, proved to be dilapidated and ruinous. 
At one of the small, iron - barred win- 
dows overlooking the neglected courtyard 
sat a young girl, bending over a lace-pillow 
and bobbins. Her plain and shabby clothes 
suited the dingy appearance of the surround- 
ings and the hare discomfort of the room. 
She was dark and sallow, with irregular 
features, which were full of force and 
character, and her face was only redeemed 
from plainness by her magnificent dark 
eyes. But there was a queenly grace and 
dignity in her lithe, shapely figure, and 
in the poise of her small head and 

shoulders ; while the hands which guided 
the bobbins were of exquisite shape and 
colouring* Near her^ enveloped in a fur 
cloak and smoking a long pipe, sat a tall, 
elderly man with high-bred features and 
soldierly bearing, He shivered as the cold 
spring w T ind penetrated through the badly 
fitting woodwork of the window, and looked 
around with discontent. Certainly his present 
abode presented a strange contrast to the 
luxurious Court from which Stanislas 
Leczinska, formerly King of Poland, had 
been driven by the Russian Czar. 

" Marie ! " he said, speaking in the French 
tongue, but with a marked foreign accent, 
"life here is becoming unbearable. No 
answer conies to my letters, no notice is taken 
of our fate, We must go to Paris." 

11 But you forget that we are very poor, my 
father," said the girl, in a singularly liquid 
and musical voice- "How could we live in 
Paris in accordance with your rank? Here 
we are in your own castle, among friends who 
are faithful to their seigneur ; and now that 
I have found a market for my lace-work and 
embroidery, we can manage to live. We 
have no means of reaching Paris or of living 



"Yet I must see King Louis," said 
the exile, rising and walking impatiently 
up and down the room. " I must re- 
mind him of the promises which he 
was so ready to make, and which I was 
deluded enough to believe* The treaty 
between us was to be cemented by the 
marriage which was to make you Queen of 
France"; then, as a look of evident shrinking 
passed over his daughter's face, he added, 
hastily : " Even in exile we must remember 
who and what we are. Your brother's death 
has made you my heiress, and has annulled 
your betrothal in childhood to Armand de 
Richelieu. I had even counted on the 
gratitude of the Duke of Richelieu, who 
owes me so much, who is my earliest friend, 
and who, being high in Court favour, has the 
King's ear. But, out of sight out of mind ! 
It is settled, Marie. We go to Paris to- 

" But we have no means of reaching Paris. 
Consider, our stock of ready money is almost 
exhausted. Our jewels are all gone." 

"There is still the opal ring." 

The exile glanced as he spoke at the 
finger on which he wore a large and very 
beautiful fire-opal set in the form of a signet 

" The opal ! The talisman of our house ! 
Oh, no, my father ! Do not part with the 
last of our heirlooms. You have King Louis' 
promise, which must sooner or later be 

As she spoke a shuffling step was heard on 
the staircase, and an elderly woman dressed 
in peasant garb entered, panting with 
haste and excitement. " Jesus Maria ! Has 
mademoiselle seen the soldiers ? A whole 
troop comes — to be quartered on us, without 

" Soldiers, Goton ? Are there soldiers in 
the neighbourhood ? " 

u Does not mademoiselle know that 
soldiers have been quartered in all the 
surrounding villages? It is said that the 
King is at Phalsbourg. And see ! there they 
come riding up the hill and making straight 
for the castle gate ! " 

The troop was now plainly visible. Even 
at that distance it was evident that they wore 
the golden fleur-de-lis, and as they came 
nearer, both Stanislas Leczinska and his 
daughter exclaimed, in surprise. 

" Armand de Richelieu ! " murmured Marie 
Leczinska, drawing back from the casement ; 
while her father, exclaiming, "It is the King ! 
King Louis himself ! " hastened to meet his 
Royal guest in the gateway. 


This was Marie Leczinska's first reception. 
In her coarse black serge garments, having just 
laid her lace-pillow aside on the dark walnut 
table, amidst rough and bare surroundings, 
she received Louis XV., the most courtly and 
splendid of all the Bourbon Sovereigns, when 
he came to visit her father in the dilapidated 
Alsatian chateau which had been a part of her 
French mother's dowry, and where Stanislas 
had been compelled to take refuge, this being 
the only spot which he could still call his own. 
Princesses may not choose their fate ; and 
Marie Leczinska was too devoted a daughter 
to hesitate at any self-sacrifice by which her 
father was to be benefited, though she may 
have had her own reasons for shrinking from 
her prospects — brilliant and dazzling as they 
might appear to other eyes. But she had 
too much strength of character to betray her- 
self, even though taken so entirely at 
unawares. Nothing could have been more 
dignified or more graceful than her manner 
of receiving the King, or of performing all the 
courtesies suitable to the hostess of the place. 
With the King had entered the young Du^e 
of Richelieu, his equerry and constant attend- 
ant, who was the only son of Stanislas 
Leczinska's earliest friend. 

" It was M. de Richelieu who proposed 
this visit when first we entered Alsace, and 
who reminded me this morning that we were 
in the neighbourhood of Mittelbroun," said 
the King, turning to present his young attend- 
ant to the exiled Princess. "Ah, you are 
already acquainted," he added, as Marie 
Leczinska extended her hand, with one of 
her unconsciously regal gestures. 

a M. de Richelieu and I have met before," 
said the young Princess, with one of the rare 
and beautiful smiles which had power to 
transfigure her otherwise plain and insignifi- 
cant features. " It was long ago — in Poland. 
I have a good memory for old friends," she 
added, and her words unintentionally con- 
veyed a tacit reproach to the King, though 
glance and meaning were intended for the 
Duke only. 

But sweet as were the tones in which this 
friendly reception was given, it awakened no 
response. The young. Duke merely bowed 
formally to the Princess, of whom he seemed 
to have no recollection as a playmate, and 
who was, he knew, destined to be Queen of 
France. Her words and her appearance 
seemed to recall no memories to him ; and 
yet, but for his recollection of the exiled King 
and of the debt of gratitude owed by his 
father to Stanislas, King Louis 1 promises 

might uteRwd? rgotter1 ' and her father 




might have 
and exile* 

been left to linger in poverty 

It was the winter of 1 744. Louis XV, had 
just returned from the successful expedition 
which had replaced Stanislas Leczinska on 
the throne of Poland, and this success was 
being celebrated by a series of brilliant 
festivities. The Parisians, ready as ever 
to be intoxicated by " la gloire," had 
recovered their most ardent feelings of 
loyalty, and the whole population of Paris, 
from the highest to the lowest, seemed only 
to live in order that they might dance and 
rejoice. The heroes of the late war had 
been the Duke of Richelieu and his son. 
The former had just been appointed Field- 
Marshal of France, while he had long held 
the post of first Chamberlain to the King. 
The Duke went in Paris by the name 
of "le grand bel homme + " His splendid 
personality, his talents as a statesman, his 

genius for intrigue were fully equal 

to those displayed a century earlier 

by his kinsman, the great cardinal, 

but the Duke had no ambition 

beyond the pursuit of pleasure, and 

his finances were so heavily impaired 

by losses at the gambling table, that 

he knew himself to be on the brink 

of ruin. Under these circumstances, 

he hoped that the important services 

which he had rendered the. King 

might be rewarded by the 

hand of a rich heiress for his 


There was little sympathy 

between the Duke and his 

heir. Armand had inherited 

from some remote ancestor 

an honourable and fastidious 

character, and was, in his 

father's opinion, a degenerate 

Richelieu. He silently condemned 

the folly which had brought them 

to the verge of ruin ; and the Duke 

resented the unspoken censure. It 

was remarked of them that winter 

that they never met except at Court ; 

and it was, therefore, a surprise to 

Armand to see his father enter his 

apartments one evening just as he 

had finished dressing for a Court ball 

This was almost an unprecedented 

event, and he looked his surprise ; the 

more so when the Duke, assuming 

a dignified and fatherly expression, 

addressed him in the following 

words : — 

"My son ! I am no longer young : indeed, 
I feel that for me old age is rapidly approach- 
ing. You are my only representative : it is 
natural that I should wish to see the fortunes 
and the succession of our house established 
in my life-rime. In consideration of my past 
services, it has graciously pleased His Majesty 
to arrange a marriage for you/ 1 

"The King? The King has arranged a 
marriage for me ? " cried Armand, too utterly 
taken by surprise at first to make the opposi- 
tion which his father expected. 

" Precisely ! It is His Majesty's pleasure 
that this marriage shall take place, and we 
have only to obey. The settlements are 
already drawn up and must be signed 
to-night The wedding will take place at 
Versailles to-morrow." 

41 This is preposterous— absurd." 
**My son, I need not remind you that 
Kings must be obeyed." 



on me in this extraordinary manner ? " 
demanded the young Duke, indignantly. 

"It is Mademoiselle Louise de Hauteville, 
one of the Queen's ladies. She is a very 
wealthy heiress* You are acquainted with 
our circumstances. Her fortune will relieve 
us from all financial embarrassment. In 
short, nothing can be tit ore advantageous for 
us. The King is anxious to assist us " 

"By choosing a rich wife for me!" inter- 
rupted Armand, who now saw through the 
whole plan. "There will be no wedding to- 
morrow/* he said, decidedly, rising as he 

" Am I to understand that you refuse to 
obey the King ? " 

il You are to understand that I refuse this 


"This is madness ! 

Royal mandates are 


not to be so lightly disregarded. 
Either put in an appearance at 
Versailles this evening, or you may 
chance to find yourself in the Bas- 
tille to-morrow/ 1 

Armand laughed ironically. " You will 
excuse my reminding you that, as the Queen's 
equerry, I am bound to appear at the masked 
ball given at the Louvre to-night," he said, 
He left the room with a mocking bow, while 
the echo of his scornful and indignant 
laughter was borne back by the echoes still 
further to infuriate the Duke, who had never 

for a moment doubted his son's obedience- 
even though it might be a most unwilling 
obedience — to the King's orders. There had 
been no exaggeration in his threat. Lettres 
de cachet were still in full force ; and against 
a King's decision there was no appeal 

** There is a woman at the bottom of this ! " 
ejaculated the angry Duke. "To be thwarted 
in this manner is unbearable. Mademoiselle 
de Hauteville is the richest heiress in France ; 
she shall not slip through my fingers so 
easily, A week or so in the Bastille would 
soon bring Armand to his senses ; but that 
depends upon the King ; and he is high in 
Court favour both with the King and with 
the Queen. The Queen ! Could it be 
possible? Have I the clue to his extra- 
ordinary conduct? The masked ball to- 
night may solve that 
point, and give me 
the knowledge by 
which I shall be 
enabled to enforce 
his obedience." 

The Queen's 
masked balls that 
winter had been a 
dream of beauty 
and splendour. 
Music — such as 
seems to remind 
the hearer of a lost 
paradise — brilliant 
lights, gorgeous 
dresses (for accord- 
ing to etiquette the 
men were all ex- 
pected to appear in 
full uniform or in 
Court dress), com- 
bined to produce a 
scene of enchant- 
ment The ladies 
alone were masked ; 
their cavaliers were 
not allowed to ap- 
pear incognito ; thus 
many a mystifica- 
tion was planned, 
many a plot was 
laid and carried 
out without fear of discovery or chance of 
failure. The Court ladies revelled in an 
etiquette which gave them more than their 
usual advantages ; it was said that the 
fashion had been introduced by Marie 
Leczinska, who had seen it practised at 
the Courts of Austria and Poland. It was 
rematlttfr'Bft^ of the 



ladies present— no doubt in order to avoid 
identification — had chosen to dress alike in 
white velvet, unrelieved by colour of any 
kind. On one of these white-robed appari- 
tions, Armand de Richelieu was to be seen 
in constant attendance during the evening, he 
himself making a conspicuous figure in the 
brilliantly-lighted ball-room, wearing full regi- 
mentals, with the crosses of Stanislas and 
Vladimir, which had been given to him by 
King Stanislas during the late campaign. 


" We hardly hoped to see you at the 
Louvre this evening, M, de Richelieu," said 
his masked companion* " Are you not ex- 
pected at Versailles to-night ? " 

"Nothing should have induced me to keep 
that appointment, madam e ! " 

" That is an unwise decision, The con- 
sequences may be more serious than you 
think, 11 

Her voice was singularly sweet and 

melodious, and the movements of her tall, 
lithe figure were full of a supple and yet of 
a queenly grace. It was not the first time 
that Armand had spent the evening in 
attendance on this white-robed figure, whose 
name he had hitherto failed to discover. 
The Duke had not been wrong in supposing 
that his son had reasons for wishing to 
attend this especial masked bail 

11 No dread of any possible consequences 
could have kept me away from here to-night t 
Will you not put an end 
to this mystery ? Will you 
not give me some sign by 
which I can recognise you 
to-morrow ? " 

M If I were to do so, the 
charm of our friendship 
would be destroyed, 
Mystery is the halo which 
lends it an enchantment.'' 

" Love needs no halo ! 
Love which is based on 
sympathy and on reverence 
is the crowning joy of life. 
What is life without love ? " 
" Love is a beautiful 
dream. Once in life it 
comes to us all, and its 
momentary ecstasy turns 
all that is noblest in our 
natures into a song of 
delight. The world is 
bathed in sunshine ; we 
have found happiness at 
last. For a little space we 
grasp our dream, believing 
it to be a reality- But it 
is never that. And when 
it ceases to be a dream our 
joy in it is gone, Let us 
avoid that dreary but in- 
evitable climax — you and 
L Let us keep just this 
one illusion*" 

u This is cruel, madame ! 
Am I never to know you? 
Are you to pass out of my 
life to-night ? Am I to be 
always haunted by a memory, which is never 
to be anything but a longing and a dream ? * 
" You must put dreams aside. You have 
interests, occupations, ambition, and a future. 
In time you will forget All men forget. We 
women can only sit and brood. To us 
Nature is cruel Defenceless we are born, 
and defenceless we must meet our destiny. 
Yet there is ,1 purpose in life* This we 
knowljlf^^y^F^feHfti^ 1 knowledge 



we meet our fate with firmness, self-strung 
to patience and endurance. Else, indeed, who 
would have courage to live through life, to 
face what the coming day may faring ? " 

Her voice was exquisitely modulated, and 
its low, sweet cadences seemed to linger on 
the ear, and to haunt it— as she had decreed 
that her memory should do. There was a 
strange power of fascination about her which 
her mysterious utterances and masked face 
only seemed to enhance. Armand was young 
enough to be influenced by the very mystery 
which surrounded her, even while seeking to 
devise some plan by 
which her determina- 
tion to remain un- 
known might be frus- 

"At least you will 
grant me a souvenir 
by which to remember 
you : a flower, a gage 
— and in return wear 
this ring, which is said 
to bring good fortune 
to the wearer ? " 

As he spoke, he 
drew from his finger 
a fire-opal set in the 
form of a signet ring. 
As he raised it to- 
wards the light, a soft 
ethereal radiance 
seemed at one mo- 
ment to play upon its delicate surface ; the 
next, strange sparks of lire appeared to dart 
from its centre as though proceeding from 
imprisoned drops of blood. Armand's com- 
panion started and exclaimed : " That is 
King Stanislas's signet ring ! The heirloom 
of his house ! " 

" King Stanislas gave it to me after the 
battle of Potova, when I had the good 
fortune to save his life. It is said to be a 
luck-stone, and to insure the success of its 
owner. Wear it in remembrance of this 

Annand's companion hesitated. At one 
moment she was about to refuse the ring ; 
then, animated by a sudden thought, she held 
out her hand to receive it. 

" I will take your gift. Some day, who 
knows ? I may return it to you ; and when I 
do so you shall know my name/* 

In a gloomy but comfortably furnished 
apartment of the Bastille, Armand de 
Richelieu, having been arrested as he was 
about to leave the Louvre, had spent the 

three following weeks. It was evening ; the 
attentat had entered to light the lamps, and 
to remind the Duke that the hour had arrived 
when he was permitted daily to walk on the 
terrace. The captive needed no urging to 
hasten out in the fresh, exhilarating evening 
air ; and to look down from the terrace on 
gay, splendid, illuminated Paris, which was 
even then revelling in its countless pleasures 
and festivities, and whose lights and music 
seemed to call and beckon to him through 
the night 

Meanwhile the door leading to his rooms 

opened, and a lady shrouded in a long, dark 
mantle appeared on the threshold accom- 
panied by a warder. Recollecting that he 
had been strictly forbidden to allow anyone 
to enter the prisoner's rooms, the attendant 
advanced hastily towards the stranger, who 
simply remarked : " You can allow me to 
enter; I have the King's order to that effect, 
which has already been submitted to the 
Governor. You can let your prisoner know 
that a lady is waiting to see him.'* 

The written order, and a sign made by the 

ward nfei^?(^nrfite^ tement ' had 



their effect ; the attendant ushered the lady 
in, with every sign of respect; and then 
hastened out on the terrace to take the 
message with which he had been intrusted 
to the Duke. 

Left alone, the lady loosened the long, 
dark cloak which enveloped her figure, and* 
appeared in a dress of white velvet, un- 
relieved by colour of any kind. She was tall 
and slender, with graceful, floating move- 
ments, and beautifully chiselled features. 
Pride and courage were the distinguishing 
characteristics of her whole being, from the 
small, haughty head with its dark, lustrous eyes, 
to the slender foot with its arched instep. 
But, accustomed as this beautiful and im- 
perious girl had been to supremacy, she was 
hardly at her ease just then. As she watched 
the door by which the attendant had de- 
parted, her colour came and went, and she 
moved restlessly up and down the room. 

" Now that I am here my courage is fast 
deserting me ! What strange witchery does 
the Queen possess that she can bend us all 
to her will ? Twenty-four hours ago I should 
have said that nothing would have induced 
me to intrude on Armand de Richelieu here 
— to force myself on a man who has fled to 
the Bastille to avoid me ; and yet here I 
am, in passive obedience to Her Majesty's 
will. If I were even superstitious enough to 
believe in the Queen's talisman, there might 
be something to keep my spirits up in the 
thought of possessing such a spell ; but I 
am not so easily impressed. According to 
the Queen, this ring which she has given me 
to wear is a luck-stone ; but she attaches a 
strange condition to the gift. I must be on 
my guard never to mention the name of the 
giver; otherwise the talisman will lose its 
magic virtue. I do not believe in occult 
power. Were I a man I would sooner trust 
to a sword ; being a woman, I place my faith 
in that marvellous influence which some of 
us can exercise on our surroundings. Yet I 
wish the next hour were over, and the Duke 
safely beyond the city gates." 

She started as a door opened and closed, 
and a hasty step was heard in the ante-room. 
But composing herself almost immediately, 
she turned to meet the young Duke with 
outward self-possession. Armand saw a lady 
in a white velvet dress of queenly height and 
bearing. He came hastily towards her, but 
she had unconsciously concealed the hand 
which wore the opal in the folds of her dress, 
and her first words enlightened him as to her 

" You have never seen me before, M. de 

Richelieu, and I am, therefore, obliged to in- 
troduce myself. I am Louise de Hauteville." 
Then, as his face expressed disappointment, 
and he unconsciously took a step backwards, 
she added, with a half-smile, in which there 
was a mixture of pathos and archness, " You 
will pardon this intrusion when I tell you that 
I am here as the Queen's messenger." 

Armand bowed stiffly. Mademoiselle de 
Hauteville was to him a most unwelcome 
visitor ; yet he could not refuse to behave 
with outward politeness to the Queen's 
messenger. " I am at your service, mademoi- 
selle," he said, coldly. 

" The Queen fears, M. de Richelieu, that 
your imprisonment here may be indefinitely 
prolonged. For some most unaccountable 
reason, the King is bent on carrying out the 
plans he has formed. He will hear neither 
argument nor entreaty. You, on your side, 
are equally determined that you will not give 

" Most assuredly, mademoiselle. I shall 
remain in the Bastille until the King chooses 
to set me at liberty without the conditions 
upon which he at present insists." 

" It is certain, monsieur, that none can 
blame you. I feel that I even owe you my 
thanks, for I do not see why my hand should 
have been disposed of in so unceremonious 
a manner. Nevertheless, this determination 
may detain you within these walls for a year 
— for years ! And meanwhile you will 
execrate the innocent and equally-to-be-pitied 
cause of your misfortunes. I thank Heaven 
that an idea has been suggested to me by 
which you may, if you choose, recover your 
freedom, and that without conditions of any 

Armand looked at her incredulously. What 
was she about to suggest ? And how could 
it be in her power to assist him ? Yet, as he 
answered her, the studied coldness which he 
had at first assumed was already giving way 
to that involuntary respect and deference 
which is so charming to a woman. To her 
mere beauty and grace he might have 
remained impervious, but there was a magic 
in her tout-ensemble, which was producing 
its effect It consisted in a wonderful smile 
and sparkle, in a mixture of pathos and 
archness, joined to a winning sweetness, of 
which even Armand de Richelieu — prejudiced 
as he had been against the bride who was 
being forced upon him — was compelled to 
acknowledge the fascination. 

" I do not understand you, mademoiselle. 
What power iefiwal freana prisoner of the 




*A woman's wits can sometimes work 
miracle s t NL de Richelieu, I am here to 
change places with you + JJ 

"To change places with me? " 

u Yes ; I, Louise de Hauteville, propose to 
be the means of enabling you to defeat the 
plans of the King and the Marshal your 
father. If you agree to my proposal, we shall 
both be revenged and you will be free/ 1 

** We shall both be revenged ? '• 

u Do you suppose, M + de Richelieu, that 
I wished to be disposed of in this summary 
manner? May I not too have had some 
wish to choose for myself? You may, 
perhaps, consider yourself the only injured 
person; but I am not of that opinion, and 
therefore I am very anxious to carry out my 
plan, which I consider a most delightful idea. 
You are not much taller than I. By the 
help of a skilful disguise — the means for 
which I have brought with rne— you will 
find no gruat difficulty in deceiving an 
old gaoler and a few sleepy attendants. 
You will take my cloak and my hood ; you 
will enter my carriage, and you will make 
your escape. The darkness is in your 
favour ; by sunrise you will be beyond 

pursuit ; you will join the army at the 
frontier, where your brothers-inarms will 
gladly welcome you \ and you will owe your 
liberty to me, who am enchanted to atone in 
this manner for the injury which 1— most 
unwillingly — have done you," 
" fi Have I heard you aright ? You suggest 
to me that I " 

" That you should stoop to a harmless 
deception which will enable us to turn the 
tables on the King and the Marshal-" 

" But if I escape in your place and under 
your name, how are you to leave the 

" I shall remain here." 

" Here ? Impossible ! How could I 
permit you to run such a risk ? " 

u Allans done 1 They are not likely to turn 
me into a State prisoner* M. de Richelieu, 
if you decline to accept my offer I shall be 
forced to believe that you really hate me — 
that you, in point of fact, detest me ; and 
this I really do not deserve at your hands ! " 

u I ? You think that I hate— that I detest 
you ? n cried Armand, completely thrown off 
his guard, " On the contrary, the more I 

see you, the more I 


am convinced of your 
charm ; to say nothing 
of the nobility of 
character which leads 
you to risk freedom 
and Court favour in 
order to assist me, a 
mere stranger, of whom 
you know nothing. Ah ! 
if I had not already 
pledged my word- n 

I^ouise had turned 
aside to conceal the 
amused and mis- 
chievous smile which 
she could not alto- 
gether restrain on hear- 
ing Armand's impetuous 
declaration; but his final 
words enabled her to 
recover her gravity. 

u I thank you for your 
good opinion, M. de 
Richelieu/' she said, 
giving him her hand, 
with a frank gesture. 
" I am happy to have 
overcome your pre- 
judices ; I trust that we 
shall part good friends," 

She stopped short as 
the hand which she 


6 4 


seized with an eager gesture of surprise and 

" The opal ! At last ! Ah, why did you 
propose flight to me ? Why not sooner have 
shown me the ring ? " 

"This ring? I have, indeed, been told 
that it possesses occult powers. Permit me 
to remind you that it will soon be ten o'clock, 
and that the Bastille closes at that hour." 

" Let it close ! I no longer object to the 
terms imposed by the King ! " 

" What next, M. de Richelieu ? Have you 
taken leave of your senses ? " cried Louise, 
in great astonishment. 

" On the contrary, I have recovered them. 
What a fatal mistake I have been on the 
point of making! If I had known three 
weeks earlier " 

" Impossible ! Have you not yourself just 
told me that you are pledged to another ? " 

" Whom until this night I had never seen 
and whose name I did not know ! We have 
met before — at the Queen's masked balls." 

11 It is true," murmured Louise, " that we 
have met and conversed at the Queen's balls, 
but you went to the Bastille to avoid me." 

" Ah ! de grace, do not keep up this 
pretence any longer ! Am I to blame for a 
mystification in which you persisted in spite 
of my entreaties ? If you had consented to 
tell me your name when last we met " 

" When last we met ? " repeated Louise. A 
suspicion of the truth was arising in her mind. 

"You do — you must — understand me! 
Otherwise — how comes this ring to be in your 
possession ? " 

" My promise ! " murmured Louise, un- 
consciously uttering her thoughts aloud. 
The truth had come to her in a flash of 
inspiration. It was the Queen whom he 
loved without knowing her. 

"Yes, you have redeemed your promise. 
When you restored to me my gift, I was to 
know your name. If I had known it earlier 
I need not have spent three weeks in the 
Bastille. Louise, when last we met you 
admitted that you loved me." 

Louise hesitated: could she keep the 
Queen's secret ? Could she deceive him ? 
No words on her part were required, merely 
silence — and the Queen's plan would be 
successful ; and the Duke's happiness 
would be secured — and hers — for she loved 

But Louise de Hauteville's was no common 
nature. If she had loved Armand de Richelieu 
unbidden, it was because she had recognised 
in him a kindred nature to her own : a 
character that was at once loyal and straight- 
forward, conscientious, and honourable. 

" It has been a misunderstanding," she 
whispered, shrinking away from him. " When 
I wore the ring, I did not know the signifi- 
cance which you would attach to the act I 
cannot tell you the truth : the secret is not 
mine, and I must keep it." 

They were both silent, while Armand en- 
deavoured to raad the riddle. If he had not 
given her the ring, from whom had she re- 
ceived it ? He remembered the words with 
which she had greeted him, when she intro- 
duced herself as the Queen's messenger. 

Just then a clock in the distance was heard 
to strike the hour. "M. de Richelieu," cried 
Louise, trying to release the hand which he 
was still holding, " it is ten o'clock. It will 
soon be too late for flight." 

" Why should I go, when I am ready to 
obey the King? It is not the Bastille 
which has vanquished me, but the invincible 
power of love. Louise, I ask no questions ; 
your secret shall be sacred. It was a dream; 
and it is over. This is the reality. Love, 
which is love, needs no halo, no mystery to 
lend it enchantment. The opal ring has 
worked its spell." 

Armand de Richelieu has left no name in 
history. He is the only man of his race 
who avoided the Court and Court favour. 
The Queen's secret was loyally kept ; so 
loyally that Marie Leczinska never knew 
that it had not always been in her own 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Born i860. 

J)HERE are few 
names, among 
those of well- 
*JSS§^ known figures 
in the cricket 
world, that are so familiar 
to the average English- 
man as that of Hawke, 
and this is little to be 
wondered at, since Lord 
Hawke is one of the 
leading gentlemen players 
of England. He has 
taken a very prominent 

as he plays both for- 
ward and back with 
equal confidence, and 
comes down on the ball 
clean and hard. He 
represented Cambridge 
University in 1882 and 
1883, and was captain 
of the eleven in 1885, 
He also played in Mr, 
Vernon's Australian team 
in 1887-8, and Indian 
team in 1890. His lord- 
ship was educated at 
Eton, and at Magdalen 
College, Cambridge, where 
his early love of cricket 
became conspicuous. He 
is the seventh Baron 
Hawke, and is Captain of 
the 3rd Battalion Prince 
of Wales's Own (York- 
Lord Hawke has taken 
teams to Australia and America respec- 
tively, and everyone is acquainted with 
the splendid manner in which the prestige 
of English cricket was upheld by their 
able representatives abroad. 

ACE ]& 

From a Ptwte* hu ItUU 
and Sa t(»Atrt, mm, 

shire Regiment). 

i a Fhata. \> ] 

AGE 35. 

(/ifiu^uu, Brighten. 

part in Yorkshire county cricket, and the 
game has no warmer supporter. He first 
represented his county in iSSi, and was 
chosen captain of the team in 1883, a 
position which he has filled most satis- 
factorily. His style of batting is excellent, 

Vol x,-9. 

I** a 0NW£R5I T Y#NrtK*MIG A »**** "■*** 





• • 

X ZV-:. 

> ■ ~T! 


Ant: 14, 
.ftwn a Photo, by HUU ** founder* 




Born 1854, 

STONE, fourth son of our Grand 
Old Man, was educated at Eton, 
and University College, Oxford, 
where he obtained his M. A. degree 

in 1879. Before 1880 he was a lecturer on 

history at Keble College, where he had ob- 
tained a first in 1876, and 

the rapidity with which he 

acclimatized himself to the 

world of practical politics 

is remarkable, Mr. Herbert 

Gladstone then made his 

entree in politics by fighting 

a very plucky, but losing, 

contest in Middlesex, in 

1880. He, how ever t stepped 

into his father's shoes at 

Leeds soon after. During 

his father's 1880-85 Gov- 
ernment he was one of the 

Prime Minister's private 

secretaries, and subse- 

From a Photo. 

HHU ft £if uttaleitf, 

quently a Junior Lord of 
the Treasury without salary, 


AGE 26l 

mm a Photo, by 1/fUt <t Saunders 

Commissioner of Works in 
the Commons during Lord 
Rosebery's tenure of that 


From a Fhuie. by EllwU d: Fry 

office. In 1886 he was 
Financial Secretary to the 
War Office, and Under 
Home Secretary since 
August, 1892. In March, 
1894, after his father's re- 
signation of office, Mr. 
Herbert Gladstone became 
First Commissioner of 
Works under Lord Rose- 
bery's present Administra- 
Q&Qnubtrpmpost which he has 

He also represented the ^<;j™* E £Y^^^ 




She now takes the part of Dandy 
Dick Whittington at the Avenue. 
Miss Yohe was married in 
November, 1894, to Lord Francis 
PelhanvClinton Hope, second son 
of the late Duke of Newcastle. 

From a Photo. Oy HviUd, PhUad&tjthitt. 

E have pleasure 

in publishing a 

charming set of 

portraits of Miss 

May Yohe, 
whose excellent acting and 
lovely voice have delighted 
so many of us lately. Miss 
Yohe is a native of Beth- 
lehem, Pennsylvania, and 
went to Dresden at the 
early age of ten ; from 
thence she entered the Con- 
vent of the Sacr£ Coeur, in 
Paris, to complete her 
education. She then re- 
turned to America, where, 
at nineteen, she made her 

first appearance on the stage, at Chicago, in a 
musical piece, called " Natural Gas," Her voice, 
originally a soprano, suddenly changed to the 
deep contralto now so much admired. Miss Yohe 
first appeared in England in 1S93, in " Magic 
Opal," and subsequently in "The Lady Slavey," 

AGE 1^, 

From Photo, by W. ifagert, Drmiam. 

MfttsKNT DAY* 

frHrr.a Vhot* * MtrtitMli^ U-^riAihrft, 



Soudan r its History, Geography, 
and Characteristics," His name 

From a f'httla. by Bfi&*um, 

during the last few years has been 
prominently before the public as 

Fr&»i a] 

I PhoUfffrajA. 

Born 1841. 

HAM-QUIN, Fourth 


Earl of 
Dunraven, K.P., was educated at 
Christ Church, Oxford, and entered 
the 1st Life Guards in 1865. He 
left the Army in 1867, and wont to Abyssinia 
as correspondent of the Daily TekgrapA* 
He followed the Franco-German War, again 
as special correspondent for the same journal, 

and in 1871 
succeeded to 
the title and 
estates. He 

AGE 33. 

Frutii a Photu. bp Li Jtune, Paris. 

was Under-Secretary for the 
Colonies in Lord Salisbury s 
two Administrations, but re- 
signed in February, 1887, 
He is the author of "The 
Great Divide/ 1 " Notes on 
Irish Architecture," and " The 

ACB 44. 

Frotn a Fkoi/f. hv A- DrTtadwm* Cowl 

that of a yachtsman. 
With his magnificent 
yacht, the Valkyrie^ he 
has twice tried to wrest 
the America Cup from 
the New York Yacht 
Club, but each time 
[ailed, his opponent on 
both occasions (1893 
and 1894) having been 
the Vigilant, a vessel of 
a I tfr© mAmerican centre - 

^w ,A *'*"rciftrcto$ft 

The Romance of Our News Supply. 

By William G. FitzGerald. 

NE almost despairs of convey- 
ing, in a single article, an 
adequate idea of the fascinating 
romance of the news supply to 
this country. When one of 
our dashing war correspon- 
dents, fired with feverish enthusiasm, per- 
forms a feat that astonishes Europe, or when 
cricket lovers are enabled to follow, almost 
over by over, Stoddart's Antipodean innings, 
then, indeed, the public appreciate the 
marvels of modem journalism. For the rest, 
it is mere exemplification of the aphorism 
that familiarity breeds contempt ; or at least, 

I can hardly do better than commence with 
a brief description of the system of ocean 
telegraphy, whereby news is transmitted from 
the uttermost ends of the earth. I must also 
acknowledge my indebtedness to Sir John 
Pender, G.C.M.G., M.P., 
who personally gave me 
much assistance. Here is 
given a reproduction from 
a photograph of the original 
message sent over the first 
Atlantic cable, the day after 
the cable was laid, August 
17th, 1858. It is from the 
Cunard agent to the head- 
quarters of his company in 
England, announcing that 
the mail steamers, Europa 
and Arabia^ had been in 
collision, but that both 
ships and passengers were 
safe. This cable was never 
opened for public business, } 
although 732 messages 
were sent through it with 
much difficulty. 

Within the brief period 
of thirty years, 152,000 
miles of cable have been 
laid on the beds of ocean 
and sea, at a cost of about 
forty millions sterling. The 
most important system is 
that known as the Eastern 
Telegraph Company, pre- 
sided over by Sir John 
Pender. This company 
own 51,325 miles of cable, 
and their actual capital 
represents something like 
jQi 5,000,000 sterling. The 

staff at home and abroad, exclusive of 
messengers and servants, number 1,790, 
besides the 600 men who are employed on 
the fleet of nine cable-repairing ships. 

The Eastern and its allied companies have 
124 stations in various parts of the world, 
and carry 2,100,000 messages per annum. 
At Porthcurnow, near Penzance, is the 
training school for operators, who, when 
properly qualified, are drafted to the 
various stations. While no probationer is 
sent to Aden, unless he volunteers to go, 
and Accra, on the West Coast of Africa, is a 
sort of white man's grave, there is a perfect 
crowd of applicants for posts at the station of 
Carcavellos, near Lisbon. The Eastern Tele- 
graph Station at this place is a magnificent 
old chiteau, purchased from the Marquis 
Morgado d'Alagoa ; it is most beautifully 
situated, and the staff attend to the vineyards 

f^tlaatir j&etgppfc (fonqpngt 

Received per the Atlantic Telegraph Company. 



day of 



^C^i^^^c. Jfo/t 

hp /u^f £r&£ Kd<& Vr*- £& &/ 

*«%— ' — 





in their spare time, the pro- 
duce being sold every season 
to a firm of London wine 
merchants. During 1 894, for 
example, the produce was 
1 j 528 gallon s> which realized 
687,000 reis. 

I am assured that the cable 
between Lands End and 
Lisbon gives more trouble 
than any other, owing to the 
frequent breakages at such 
great depths as 3,000 fathoms, 
The Eastern maintenance 
bill, by the way, is between 
^80,000 and ^100,000 a 
year, I should mention that 
the cable varies in thickness, 
the shore end weighing, per- 
haps, four tons to the mile, 
while the weight of that part 
which swings across valleys 
in the bed of the deep sea 
averages but thirty hundred- 
weight to the mile. 

The enemies of the cable are many and 
various* Sometimes a shark will bite at it 
savagely, leaving a few teeth in the coating 
as a memento of the encounter. During 
repairing operations in the Red Sea, the 
grapnels brought up a whale's skeleton 
weighing a ton or so. Then there are 
ships 1 anchors t submarine volcanoes, erratic 
currents, and continuous friction to contend 
with. The most successful and persistent 
enemy, however, was until recently the 
Teredo boring worm, some specimens of 
which are shown in a bottle between the 
snakes. I show- these snakes as bona-fide sea- 
serpen ts > found coiled round the cable. How 


these reptiles came to be at the bottom of 
the sea at all has not transpired ; which 
makes the matter the more interesting. I 
also reproduce a photograph of some marine 
growths of fairy-like beauty found upon a 
cable "fault" in the Straits of Malacca, 
Even tho Teredo worm has now been 
baffled by the use of brass ribbon. 
The fact of a breakage is very easily dis- 
covered, but the way in which the spot is 
localized is simply marvellous, I cannot 
possibly describe the technical routine; let 
it suffice to say that the galvanometer test is 
applied, and then a cable-ship is dispatched 
to within perhaps a few hundred yards of the 

actual breakage, 
when she uses her 
grapnels until the 
broken lengths are 
brought up. Be- 
fore the final splice 
is made, messages 
are sent from the 
ship in mid-ocean 
to the nearest 
shore station. On 
certain occasions, 
cable messages are 
interpreted at the 
receiving - station 
by means of a 
brilliant spark 
which plays along 



every message flashed from continent to con- 
tinent is now recorded by that wondrous 
instrument known as the " syphon recorder/ 1 
invented by Lord Kelvin. The principal parts 
of this instrument are a light rectangular coil 
of si5k-covered wire and a powerful magnet. 
The coil is suspended between the poles of 
the magnet, so that when excited by the 
electric current from the cable it swings on a 
vertical axis. Its movements are recorded 
on a paper ribbon drawn at a uniform speed 
before the point of a fine glass syphon, no 
thicker than a human hair, which conducts a 

tend with. Flocks of wild geese fly against it 
on the snow-swept steppes of Russia ; nomad 
tribes of the Caucasian districts make fire- 
wood of the poles ; and the unscrupulous 
inn-keepers of Georgia will deliberately cause 
faults in the wires, in order to create a boom 
in the post-horse trade. 

It will interest sportsmen to learn that 
" grouse protectors," or rattling sheets of tin, 
have to be hung on some of the telegraph 
wires on the new West Highland Railway, 
near Crianlarich. The noise made by these 
u protectors ,T warns the birds of a danger, 

>^^^-v^^y^v"/-w^ j^y^V^J%/N^W^ 

A B 

D E 

H t 




R S T U 

W X 


stream of ink from a reservoir on to the 
paper ribbon. The marking end of the 
syphon responds to and multiplies every 
movement of Ihe coil, leaving on the 
ribbon an ink trail, which is an exact and 
permanent record of the movements of the 
coil under the influence of the currents from 
the cable, but which the uninitiated might 
mistake for the trail of a partially disabled 
blue-bottle that had only just escaped an 
inky grave* My meaning will be better 
understood on glancing at the cable alphabet 
which is reproduced here. The syphon 
records from 250 to 300 letters per minute. 

Perhaps no single telegraph system passes 
through such diverse countries as that of the 
Indo-European Telegraph Company. This 
line extends from London to Lowestoft ; then 
it dips under the sea to Emdcn, on the 
German coast, whence it passes through 
Germany to the Russian frontier, 
this point, the wire passes by 
Warsaw, Rowno, Odessa, the Caucasus, 
and Tiflis to the confines of Persia, and 
again by Tauris to Teheran, where it joins 
the Indian Government line, which runs 
from the Persian capital to Bushire, on the 
Persian Gulf* From the last-named town 
wires run through Beloochistan, completing 
the route by connecting up at Kurrachee. 

This great line obviously has much to con- 

and prevents them from hurling themselves in 
full flight against the pitiless wires. 

In the accompanying illustration, an enemy 
of the Post Office telegraphs is depicted 
flagrante delicto. Here we see a small 

way of 




section of a Norway fir telegraph pole, three 
years old and deeply creosoted, and with a 
green woodpecker mounted near a big hole 
in the side. The story, as told me by Mr, 
J, C Lamb, the courteous Assistant Secretary 
of the General Post Office, is as follows : — 

"The pole stood at Shipston-on-Stour, and 
was perfectly sound and hard. It was 7^in, 
in diameter at the point attacked by the bird, 
and the hole was 6^ in. deep, with an oval 
opening 4m. high, by jin. broad Many 
other poles in the vicinity were similarly 
attacked, and, of course, they had to be 
removed lest they should topple over in the 
first high wind. One of the woodpeckers 
was shot, and then stuffed and mounted near 
the hole, It is thought that the bird attacked 
the pole in the hope of finding insects 
therein, being misled by the humming of the 
wires. i} 

Practically the whole of the provincial 
work of the great London news agencies is 
done through the Post Office, where there is 
a special department for it. I reproduce here 
a view of the News Gallery at the General 


by an elaborate system of classification a vast 
number of messages are dispatched with 
surprisingly little trouble, the rate of speed 
varying from 300 to 450 words per minute. 
At each circuit in the busy news division 
there is a Wheatstone Automatic Transmitter, 
through which paper ribbon, prepared by 
pneumatic perforating instruments, is passed 
by clock-work. There are fifty-five perforating 
instruments, each capable of punching eight 
ribbons simultaneously. Each of these eight 
ribbons can be run through several automatic 
transmitters; and in this way, one slip, 
passing successively through four transmitters, 
might supply sixteen provincial newspaper 
offices with the same message in two minutes* 
On occasions of exceptional pressure, the 
punching staff is largely augmented by other 
telegraphists ; and about 515 ribbons are 
sometimes prepared simultaneously, 

I should have mentioned that the clerks 
in the Intelligence Department also keep 
registers of the clients of the news agencies, 
which registers are altered at Christmas, when 
annual contracts expire. 

The whole 
world is focused, 
so to speak, on 
an unpretentious 
building in the 
Old Jewry ; this 
is Reuter's 
Agency, whose 
name is indeed a 
household word. 
Baron de Reuter, 
then plain Mr., 
made his first 
important coup by 
reporting the an- 
which electrified 
Europe on 
January 1st, 1859, 
when the Emperor 
Napoleon III. 

Post Office, w r hich is simply bewildering to the 
ordinary person, owing to the ceaseless clatter 
and whir of the instruments. Under normal 
conditions, the number of telegraphists on 
duty in the news division varies from fourteen 
between eight and nine o'clock in the morn- 
ing, to about 140 between six and eight 
o'clock in the evening, when the bulk of the 
newspaper work is dealt with. At 10 a.m. 
the stall numbers about forty, and at 2 p.m. 
about ninety. 

There are twenty-three news circuits, and 

made use of the 
following ominous and threatening words to 
the Austrian Ambassador : '* I regret that my 
relations with your Government are not as 
good as formerly; but I beg you to inform 
the Emperor, your August Master, that my 
personal sentiments towards him have under- 
gone no change." The despatch containing 
this message was not at first credited, but 
confirmation soon came, and Reuter's had 
the honour of foreshadowing to the world the 
beginning of the great struggle that ended at 




When President A br aha m Lincoln was shot 
by Wilkes Booth, on the night of April 14th, 
1^65. Atlantic cables were not working, con- 
sequently the mail steamers were the only 
means of quick communication between the 
United States and this country. All that 
night Reuters agent waited for the announce^ 
ment of Lincoln's death, which was known to 
bi imminent. The President passed away 
at 7.30 next morning, and at that hour, too, 
a great steamer was leaving for England. 
Feeling that the occasion called for special 
measures, the energetic agent hired a fast 
tug and pursued the deponing steamer until 
he was near enough to cast on her deck a 
tin canister containing the mournful tidings. 
This was the only intimation of Lincoln's 
death received by the mail 

In the early days of this world-renowned 
news agency, incoming Atlantic mail steamers 
were met by swift yachts off the extreme 
south-western coast of Ireland, Despatches 
inclosed in tin cans of special construction 
were then thrown overboard by the officers 
of the steamer, and picked up by the yachts, 
after which the messages were conveyed with 
all possible expedition to the nearest telegraph 
station for transmission to London, To still 
further expedite the receipt of this news, Mr. 
Renter obtained the construction of a 
telegraph line from Cork to Crook haven, a 
long stretch of wild, rough country, which 
would otherwise have hnd to be traversed by 
coach. This arrangement proved of the 
utmost value during the American Civil War. 

The moment a telegram from the cable 
officer, or other sources, is received at 
Reuter's, it is registered in a book by the 
timekeeper, who 
sits in a box at 
the foot of the 
stairs leading to 
the editorial de- 
partment* The 
message is then 
passed on to the 
senior editor on 
duty, who knows 
precisely what to 
do with it. It 
may be satisfac- 
tory or doubtful, 
inadequate, or un- 
suitable for publi- 
cation. In the 
case of a doubtful 
message, the editor 
keeps it back and 

probably cables for 
Vol. 1 -10, 

confirmation to half-a-dozen different centres. 
Ordinarily, messages are immediately tran- 
scribed in manifold, one copy being placed on 
the editors file for reference, while the other is 
taken in hand hy an operator, who dispatches 
its contents by the "piano transmitter "--of 
which more hereafter— to the offices of the 
great London newspapers, all of which 
receive it simu/taneoush\ set up in printed 
columns by a miracle of latter-day electrical 

The re-transmission of messages is left 
entirely to the senior editor's discretion. He 
knows perfectly well that news of such an 
event as the loss of H.M.S. Victoria must be 
dispat- h<-dall over the world ; while dicta on 
bi metal I ism are of special interest to India 
and the United States, As well as receiving 
news from their own column-printing machine i 
{actuated by the M piano transmitter' 5 at 
Renter's), newspapers also receive the same 
despatches by hand. For this purpose the 
famous agency keep a staff of about sixty -five 
boys in uniform, who come on duty at various 
times simply because the work goes on night 
and day. These messengers are paid extra 
if they run : for example, the office of the 
Morning Post, at the corner of Wellington 
Street, Strand, is supposed to be half an 
hours walk from Reuters, whereas at a run 
the return journey is supposed to take but 
forty-five minutes. Times and distances are 
regulated with great nicety: and cycles are used 
for the conveyance of messages to far-off news 
papers like the Pal! Mali Gazette, in Charing 
Cross Road. In the picture on the next page 
the chief of the messenger staff is seen hand- 
ing despatches to one of the corps of cyclists 





Some idea of the enormous amount of 
money spent in the collection and transmission 

of news may be 
Deeming trial 
case at Mel- 
bourne. During 
the three weeks 
of this trial 
Renter's agent 
cabled whole 
eclumns of the 
Times at 3s. 4tL 
per word This 
rate has, I be- 
lieve, been since 
reduced. At 
any rate s the 
u special" far 
exceeded his 
limit of ^200 
per day. 

Not the least 
interesting fea- 
ture to be seen 
at Renter's is the 

realized if we 


strange and comical misunderstandings some- 
times occur in these viva zvee messages. 
The Paris stenographers were once told, as 
distinctly as might be, that the Metropolitan 
Police had issued an order for muzzling 
stray dogs (chiens errants). What they wrote 
flown, however, was chats ef rats {cats and 

Telephone Room, 
In this strangely 

shown in our illustration 
silent, padded chamber, the operator sits 
before the sensitive plate, with a pair of 
telephones affixed to his ears helmet-wise. 
He is seen taking down messages in short- 
hand as fast as his Paris colleague can speak, 
but he himself also dictates messages into 
the instrument in a marvellously articulate 
voice The first intimation of the assassina- 
tion of President Carnot was received ai 
this instrument. As one might imagine. 


rats), and this was printed in the French 
newspapers, On another occasion, on being 
apprised of the fact that the French smack 
LAurvre (Dawn) had been spoken off 
Scarborough, the Paris stenographers reported 
for the satisfaction of French fishermen that 
V Horrear — possibly the latest tiling in 
sea-serpents— hud been seen in British waters. 
Among the many other 
remarkable Reuter des- 
patches may be mentioned 
the news of the disastrous 
battle of Isandlwana, when 
Lord Chelmsford's camp 
was rushed by 15,000 
Zulus, and a large part of 
the ] British force cut to 
pieces. By order of the 
then C Governor of the Cape, 
Sir Bartle Frere, the mes- 
sage was conveyed by mail 
steamer to St Vincent — 
there being no cable to 
South Africa at that time 
—and telegraphed thence, 
in a mysterious combina- 
tion of f^atin, French, and 
(German words, to Reuters 
head-quarters, where, al- 
though received at 1 a.m. f 
nil! Untranslated and pre- 




pared for the morning papers, Then, 
again, Reuters agent at Durban walked 
into the telegraph office in that town 
one night, and wired to London the 
ignominious details of Majuba Hill Surely 
there is something impressive in the spectacle 
of a man calmly sending off messages that 
are destined to stir a nation from end to end* 

I will now proceed to touch on the system 
of the Exchange Telegraph Company, so 
well known by their wonderful tape machines. 
The head-quarters are at Cornhill, while the 
chief editorial office is in the Haymarket. 
This company started in 1872 with 200 
machines, costing ^10 each, and licensed 
by the Postmaster - General. The tape 
machine is an American invention, and at 
the time of its introduction into this country 
there were no fewer than 1,500 similar instru- 
ments at work in New Vork. The director of 
the company, Captain Da vies, told me many 
entertaining stories about his former fierce 
struggles with the Post Office and the com- 
mittee of the Stock Exchange, but they 
wnuld scarcely be relevant to my subject. 
And yet both of these institutions receive 
royalties from the company, the one for con- 
cessions granted, and the other for the 
privilege of quoting its prices to hundreds of 
subscribers. The system of the Exchange 
Telegraph Company may be briefly described 
as the collection of news from about 1,200 
correspondents, and its dissemination in 
classes to newspapers, clubs, exchanges, 
offices, and private individuals, who may take 
and pay for as 
much or as little 
as they please. 

T he Hay- 
market branch is 
the great receiving 
hou^e for news. 
Hence come news 
telegrams on every 
conceivable sub- 
ject from all parts 
of the kingdom ; 
law reports from 
the office in the 
crypt of the law 
Courts, and Par- 
liamentary news 
from the Re- 
porters' (iallery at 
the House of 
Commons. Here 
is a view of the 
Reporters' (ial- 
lery, with the 

representatives of our great newspapers 
hard at work taking down speeches and 
descriptions of "scenes," the notes being 
subsequently transcribed in a rather dismal- 
looking room provided with seven or eight 
big tables, writing materials, cane-bottomed 
chairs, and electric lights. The Exchange 
Telegraph Company have a Post Office wire 
direct from the Gallery at the House of 
Commons to their Hay market branch ; and 
in our next illustration the chief editor, Mr. 
John Boon, a veteran journalist, is seen 
dictating the detail of the Budget to an 
operator, who sits at the M piano transmitter/ 1 
and who is causing hundreds of wonderful 
little machines in clubs all over London to 
simultaneously click out, on their paper tapes, 
neatly printed accounts of Sir William 
Harcourt's latest fiscal scheme. I may say 
that one transmitter could actuate thousands 
of subscribers 5 machines* at any distance, 
were it not that the Post Office vetoes a 
wider extension of the system. 

The tape machines have clock-work 
mechanism, but their type wheels are rotated 
by electricity, and controlled by the trans- 
mitting apparatus ; they cost from £& to ^20 
each, and are made in lots of fifty, at the 
Exchange Company's works in Devonshire 
Street, Bishopsgate- They print at the rate 
of from thirty-five to forty words per minute, 
and some of them print about 4,000,000 
words without needing repair. Perhaps the 
most astonishing thing about this system is 
that any number of tape machines can be 

THE RI'-fi.HM k^ h,ALVERV A l U\h HtH. 

Ulil V LnJl I 





operated from a single transmitter, even 
though those machines be scattered all over 
die Metropolis. 

Thinking it would interest lovers of 
statistics, 1 induced Mr + Higgins, the com- 
pany's electrical engineer, to prepare for me 
a few figures respecting the instruments. It 
seems that 13,557 miles of paper tape were 
used last year, besides 590 miles of the broad 
paper band used in the column-printing 
machines at the newspaper offices, the sum 
total being equal to 18,867 miles *of tape. 
The column printer is also controlled by the 
transmitter, and can record 9,000 words per 
day ; it was suggested by Colonel Hozier, of 
Lloyd's, who pointed out how 
awkward it was to read long and 
important messages from the 
tape. The company used to 
generate their own electricity, 
but the power at the Hay market 
branch is now rented from an 
electric light corporation. The 
accumulators at Cornhill, how- 
ever, are still charged on the 
premises by a Pel ton water- 
wheel ; and a view of one of 
the battery rooms is the next 
illustration. l^ast Boat Race 
Day the Exchange Compny 
laid a cable under the river, 
and had twelve temporary tele- 
graph stations all along the 
course, so that the result "of the 
race was signalled to London, 
and re-transmitted to about 800 
subscribers within three seconds 
of the judges decision. Even 

this enterprise, however, is 
eclipsed by the ingenious 
notion of Mr* Saunders, 
the late M.P. for Wal- 
worth, and founder of the 
Central News Agency, who, 
when the University Boat 
Race aroused far more 
enthusiasm than it does 
now, procured a conces- 
sion from the Cambridge 
University, whereby he was 
enabled to place a mon- 
strous drum of four and a 
half miles of wire in the 
stem of the Cambridge 
steamer, and pay it out as 
the little vessel proceeded 
from Putney to Mortlake 
with the racing crews. By 
this means, minutely de- 
scriptive reports could be dispatched con- 
tinuously to the Metropolis. It was Mr. 
Saunders, too, who caused temporary tele- 
graph wire and Morse instruments to be 
set up all along the route followed by 
the procession to St. Paul's Cathedral, 
on the occasion of the Thanksgiving 
Service after the recovery of the Prince 
of Wales from typhoid fever. Mr. Sail rulers 
knew full well that the streets would be im- 
passable, and he wanted a descriptive report 
of the scene at route. 'Phis is the only 
occasion on which the tap of a Morse 
instrument has been heard within the walls 
of the Cathedral itself. 



i t 

Winter is a bad time for the Exchange 
Telegraph Company's tnpe machines, for not 
only does the wind then blow the wires 
together, bm the stout telephone wires of 
phosphor bronze are apt to break beneath 
a load of snow and fall on them. The 
accompanying view of u overhead London/' 
taken above the smoke-line, shows one of 
the linesmen engaged in his perilous duty 
of repairing the wires on the roof of Bar- 
tholomew House, Altogether, about 750 
tape and telephone instruments are worked 
by the wires attached to this frame. 

The extraordinary pains taken by repre- 
sentatives of news agencies to outwit their 
rivals and be first in the field are well worthy 
of note. At by-elections attempts are made 
to introduce a confederate 
into the counting-room, who 
shall announce, by secret 
signals from the window, 
the name of the successful 
candidate. This move was 
Once found out at Walsall, 
so the window was core- 
fully guarded. Not to be 
beaten, one enterprising 
journalist ascended the 
stairs, hammered the door, 
and roared "Fire' 1 ! In 
the panic that followed, he 
received from his fellow- 
worker inside, not only the 
result of the election, but 
a bundle of 200 other tele- 
grams wherewith to block 
the wire against all comers 
after the dispatch of the 
message. In fact, it has 
often happened that the 
result of an election has been wired to 
London and sent as an item of news back 
to the constituency whence it came just as 
the Mayor was introducing the successful 
candidate to the people from the Town Hall 

Another agent disguised himself as a 
beggar, stood beneath the window of the 
counting-room , and received from his con- 
federate above — ostensibly as charity — a 
penny, whereoi was scratched the initials of 
the successful candidate. Yet another artful 
pressman caused his rival to be regarded 
with loathing by both parties, pointing him 
out to the Conservative agent as a Glad- 
stonian emissary, and to the Liberal agent 
as an unscrupulous Tory. 

"Tapping 1 " racing news that is passing 
over Post Office wires is all but impossible 

O V liK H K A U LON D< 1 N 

now ; but a racing message may oe stopped 
in the interest of a certain person if that 
person will but penetrate the gutta-percha 
covering and hang a piece of copper wire on 
the unprotected line. I am told that during 
the Kgvptian campaign officers complained 
that the heliograph signals— mere flashes of 
light though they arc — were read and trans- 
lated by a " apedal, " who promptly made 
copy of them and wired them home to his 
newspaper. This correspondent was observed 
at Suakin standing on a sandy hillock and 
watching the intermittent flashes playing afar 
off on shad)' spots. 

On Derby Day, probably 150 pressmen and 
forty Post Office clerks are actually engaged 
in repnrting the race, there being eight special 
wires from the course, and 
several temporary telegraph 
offices established in vans, 
besides the central post 
office behind the grand 
stand* The next illustration 
bhows the racing intelli- 
gence department at the 
Exchange Company's Hay- 
market office. The result 
of a race is just being 
received by the operator 
in the foreground, who is 
taking it down on i£ flimsy" 
as fast as the Morse instru- 
ment taps out the letters. 
Simultaneously, the opera- 
tor at the l( piano trans- 
mitter" is dispatching the 
news to hundreds of clubs 
and newspapers in 
London; and the man at 
the telephone is speaking to 
the Brighton office. I should mention that 
every telegraphist perfectly understands the 
mysterious tapping language of the instru- 

Carrier or homing pigeons are sometimes 
employed to convey the result of a race, but 
they are not to be relied upon. Sometimes 
the bird will make for the nearest tree and 
try to peck the u flimsy 1 ' message from its leg ; 
and at the Waterloo coursing meeting — for 
which pigeons are hired at a guinea each— it 
often happens that a man armed with a rifle 
has to be stationed at the home cote to shoot 
at and bring down sundry ornithological 
messengers, who are probably circling and 
manoeuvring above in a most exasperating 
manner. Pi geo n s we r e s u cce ss ful ly em ployed, 
however, when Captain Webb swam across 
the Channel Two baskets, each containing 





ten birds, were taken in the boat accom- 
panied the swimmer, and each pigeon 
carried a message of about 400 words. 

There seems to be no end to the wonderful 
side of this subject. In the accompanying 
illustration Mr. Higgins, the electrician of 
the Exchange Telegraph, is seen following on 
the tape a description of a big match at 
Lord's, The operator actually on the ground 
is transmitting the report to the Hay market 
branch, whence it is simultaneously dis- 
patched to all the clubs and newspapers. 
No expense is spared on our news supply. 
When the Central News representative inter- 
viewed at Tokio an officer who had been in 
the thick of the 
famous battle of 
the Yalu River, the 
mere telegraphing 
of his descriptive 
despatch cost 

When local press- 
men are not avail- 
able as correspon- 
dents for the great 
L o n d o 11 n e w s 
agencies, the latter 
appoint school 
masters or clergy- 
men, many of 
whom, however, 
have strange 
notions as to the 
intrinsic value of 
news. In the Press 
Association's list ol 

liguie a lighthouse- 
keeper, wool- 
stapler, publican, 
prison warder, 
tailor, organist, and 
Government spy, 
This latter agency 
has to deposit 
^500 with the 
Post Office in 
order to cover the 
cost of all tele- 
grams sent to them 
during the twenty- 
four hours : for the 
instead of paying 
for the news-tele- 
grams they send, 
merely hand in a 
filled-in form giving 
the number of words and other details. The 
face value of these forms is assessed daily, 
and a Post Office bill sent in for instant 

Many are the excellent stories told by the 
managers of news agencies anent Mr. G lad- 
stone, whose disappearance from public life, 
by the way, meant a loss of ^2,000 a year to 
the Press Association. About twelve years 
ago Mr. Gladstone was going from London 
to Edinburgh, accompanied by a **P.A. 
Special/' who travelled in the same carriage. 
When the train reached Preston several local 
magnates were found to be in waiting, being 
desirous of presenting an address with the 

jv ^\s\-m 




object of eliciting a short speech from the 
great statesman on " Protection and Free 
Trade." The moment Mn Gladstone com- 
menced to tedy, however, the train started, 
and the boarding party beat an undignified 
retreat. Nothing daunted, the right lion, 
gentleman turned to the astonished reporter 
sitting near him, and after thanking him fur 
the address, proceeded to make an important 
statement on a somewhat uninteresting 
subject, as the train sped swiftly through the 
country. The journalist put one-third of a 
column of matter on the wire when he 
reached Edinburgh, much to the subsequent 
amazement of the Preston correspondents of 
the big dailies, who declared that no such 
speech had been made. 

On another occasion, in 1H80, when Mr. 
Gladstone was 
in the height 
of his glory, 
and was fol- 
lowed about 
the country 
by a nimble 
squadron of 
ninety repor- 
ters, the great 
Liberal leader 
was announced 
to speak in an 
immense tem- 
porary wooden 
structure at 
West Odder. 

The Central News 
people had 
arranged for a 
special train to run 
from Edinburgh to 
West Calder and 
back again, in 
order to convey 
the reporter and 
his eight columns 
or so of copy in 
hot haste to the 
telegraph office, 
"I'll run theenjun 
richt oop to the 
hall," remarked 
the local station- 
master confiden- 
tially to theCentral 
News man, "and 
the driver shall 
w h u s 1 1 e and 
whustle till ye 
come out" 
This plan was faithfully carried out, with 
the result that Mr. Gladstone was startled and 
disconcerted in the middle of a fine burst of 
eloquence by the piercing and sustained 
shriek of a locomotive, apparently at very 
close quarters* Loud cries of "Shame!" 
arose, but the deafening sound did not 
cease until the reporter rushed out and 
waved his copy triumphantly. The funniest 
part of the whole affair, though, was that 
next morning the indignant Liberal papers 
appeared with aggressive head -lines telling of 
" Scandalous Tory Tactics,' 1 

The last two illustrations given here show 
the smoking-room of the House of Commons, 
where is now fixed the Exchange Telegraph 
Company's annunciator, whereby legislators 
sitting at their ease in this luxurious 

apartment can 
tell at a glance 
what is going 
on in the 
House itseir. It 
is said that the 
party Whips re- 
gard this in- 
genious instru- 
ment with 
marked dis- 
favour, since it 
obviates the 
necessity of 
frequent visits 
to the Legisla- 
tive Chamber, 

rvmu* wnyiridi iruiu 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 


Bv L T. Mkade and Clifford Halifax, MD. 

[These stories are written in collaboration with a medical maa Q? large experience. Many are founded on fact, and all are 
uithtii the region of practical medical ^e'encc. Those stories which may convey an idea rtf the impossible are only a forecast cf an 
early realization .] 


HAD taken an interest in 
Feveral since he was a lad, 
and had watched his early 
medical career with pleasure. 
His brains were decidedly 
above the average, and he was 
in all respects a first-rate sort oF fellow. As 
a medical student he was fond of corning to 
me for advice, which I always gave frankly. 
By-and-by, he secured the post of house 
physician at Guy's Hospital — his short 
career there was marked by much promise, 
nnd when the death of a relative enabled 
him to buy a share in a good country 
practice, I told him that I regarded Ins 
future as secure. He married soon ., after- 
wards, and at his special request I was 
present at the wedding. After this event 
1 saw much less of him, but his letters, which 
reached mt once or twice a year, assured me 
that he was doing well and happily in every 
sense of the word, 

1 had not seen Feveral for nearly three 
years, when one day, towards the end of the 
winter of 3 93 t he called at my house. I was 


out when he arrived, but when I opened my 
door with my latchkey he came into the hall 
to gfeet me. 

11 Halloa ■ " I exclaimed, when I saw him. 
" How are you ? What has brought you 
to town? 1 hope you are well How are 
the wife and child ? " 

"My wife is well," replied Feveral; "the 
baby died a month ago -oh, the usual thing 

He paused and looked me full in the face 
— I glanced at him and almost uttered a 
shocked exclamation. 

44 We have had an awful visitation of the 
plague," he continued ; Lt it is my belief that it 
has been worse at Westfield than in any other 
part of the country." 

" You don't look too fit. Have you had 
an attack yourself? " I said* 

" Yes, and 1 am overdone in every way, 
The fact is, I rushed up to town on purpose 
to consult you." 

I gave him another quick glance, When 
last I saw him he was a handsome, well-set-up 
fellow, full of muscle and vigour, with the 
Knglishman's indomitable 
pluck written all over him ; 
now he looked like a man 
who had undergone a sort 
of collapse. He had con- 
tracted a slight stoop between 
his shoulders, his abundant 
black hair was slightly 
streaked with grey, his eyes 
were sunken and suspiciously 
bright, there were heavy, black 
lines under them, and his 
cheeks were hollow. 

"I shall be all right pre- 
sently," he said; with a laugh* 
" Will you have the good- 
ness to overhaul me, Halifax, 
and put me into the way of 
getting back my old tone? 
Can I speak to you — can 
you devote a little of youi 
time to me?" 

"All the time you require," 
I answered, heartily. " You 
have arrived just at a con- 
venient moment ; I have 
dinner, and 
see any more 

JJMRSIT\toM.*$ s 



patients before nine or ten o'clock to-night 
I have several hours, therefore, at your dis- 
posal; but before we touch upon medical 
subjects, you must have some dinner." 

As I spoke I ushered Feveral into my 
dining-room, and, ringing a bell, ordered 
Harris to lay places for two. Dinner was 
served almost immediately, but I noticed to 
my dismay that my guest only played with his 
food. He drank off several glasses of good 
wine, however, and the fact was soon dis- 
cernible in his increased animation. 

" Come into the study and have a smoke," I 
said, when the meal had come to an end. 

He rose at once and followed me. We 
drew up our chairs in front of a cheerful fire, 
and for a time smoked our pipes in silence. 
It needed but a brief glance to tell me that 
Feveral ,was completely broken down — I 
should never have recognised him for the 
bright, energetic fellow whose happy wedding 
I had attended three years back. I waited 
now for him to begin his confidence — he did 
not say a word until he had finished his first 
pipe, then he sprang to his feet and stood 
facing me. 

" I can't attempt to describe what a time 
we have had," he said, abruptly — " that awful 
influenza has raged all over the place. The 
more I see of that insidious, treacherous com- 
plaint, the more I dread it. It is my firm 
conviction that influenza has caused more 
deaths and wrecked more lives than the 
cholera ever did. You have seen Russell, 
my partner — well, he and I have been 
completely worked off our feet : I can't tell 
you what domestic tragedies we have been 

" Well, you have not come up to town 
simply to tell me about them ? " I interrupted, 

" Of course not ; I daresay you can record 
just as dismal a tale." 

" Worse, if possible," I replied ; " biit now 
to turn to yourself : you say you have been 
attacked by the enemy ? " 

" Yes — worse luck — it was after the child's 
death. She was a bright, healthy little soul, 
eighteen months old. Perhaps you don't 
know what a first child is in a house, Halifax ? 
— my wife and I simply lived for the little 
one. Well, she succumbed to the malady in 
a day or two. Poor Ingrid broke down com- 
pletely — she did not have influenza, but her 
strength gave way. She lost appetite and 
sleep. Nothing roused her but my un- 
expected illness. I suppose one does feel 
surprised when a doctor knocks up. Yes, I 

was down with the complaint, and had a 
VoL x.— 11. 

short, sharp attack. I was up and about 
again in no time. I thought myself all right, 
but " 

" You acted very unwisely in going about so 
soon," I replied ; " you are not fit for work 

" Is it as bad as that ? Do I show that 
things are amiss so plainly ? " 

" Any doctor can see that you are not 
the thing," I answered. "You are broken 
down — your nerve has gone ; you want rest 
Go home to-night, or, better still, wait until 
the morning, and then take the first train to 
Westfield. See Russell, and tell him plainly 
that you must have a month off work. I 
can send him down a substitute, if you com- 
mission me to do so. Get away, my dear 
fellow, without delay. Take your wife with 
you — the change will do her as much good 
as it will you. Go somewhere on the 
Continent. Have complete rest in fresh 
surroundings, and you will be a different 
man when you return." 

" God knows I need to be different," said 
Feveral. " At the present moment I don't 
recognise myself." 

Here he hesitated, paused, and looked 

" The fact is," he continued, suddenly, " I 
have not yet told you the true reason which 
brought me to consult you." 

"Well, out with it, old man," I said, 

He tried to give me a steady glance, but 
his eyes quickly fell. 

" The fact is this," he said, abruptly, and 
rising as he spoke : " the influenza has left 
an extraordinary sequel behind. I have an 
inexpressible dread over me. By no means 
in my power can I drive it away." 

" Sit down and keep calm," I said ; " tell 
me your fears as fully as possible." 

Feveral sat down at my bidding. After a 
pause he began to speak. 

"You know," he said, "what an uphill 
thing an ordinary doctor's career is. I 
thought I had done a very good thing when 
I bought a share of Russell's practice. I 
found, however, that it was nothing like as 
large as I had been given to suppose. I 
did all that man could do to increase it — I 
have been popular as a doctor, and fresh 
patients now come daily to consult me. In 
short, I am likely to do well, and if only I 
can keep my health, to make a fair provision 
for my wife." 

" Why should you not keep your health ? " 
I asked 

" T ^l"\6ENnh5FMfGHT*fH re P lie d i " at 



the present moment, for practical, useful 
purposes my health is gone — my nerve has 
deserted me." 

" You must be more explicit/ I said, 
" What is up ? IJ 

u I dread making a fearful professional 
mistake, and so ruining my prospects as a 
medical man." 

* c What do you mean ? " 

"I will try and explain myself. Since I 
have had influenza I have been subject to 
brief but extraordinary lapses of memory, 
You know we dispense our own medicines. 
Well, this is the sort of thing that happens 
almost daily : I see a patient — I diagnose his 
case with my usual care. I then go to the 
dispensary to prepare the right medicine for 
him — 1 take up a bottle, as likely as not of 
some strong poison, and find that the whole 
case has vanished from my mind \ I do not 
in the least know what I am holding the 
bottle for, nor why I am in the dispensary ; 


my patient and his case, the diagnosis I 
have made j the medicine I want to make up, 
become a complete blank to me. After a 
lapse of several minutes my memory returns; 
but this state of things comes on oftener and 
often er , and the fear of it has made me 

thoroughly nervous and unfit for work* You 
see yourself, Halifax, that grave consequences 
may arise from such a peculiar state of nerves 
as mine, I may during a lapse of memory 
put something into the medicine which may 
kill my patient My terror on this point at 
times almost reaches mania— I am nearly 
beside myself-'* 

(l Does your memory desert you at any 
other time ? " I asked, 

" Yes, but the curious thing is that it only 
fails me in connection with my profession. 
When I am alone with my wife I feel at 
comparative ease, and almost like my 
usual self; but when I am driving to see 
patients, I often completely forget my most 
important visits, I neglect the patients 
whose lives are in danger, and visit those 
who have comparatively little the matter with 
them. Of late I have given my coachman a 
list of all the patients whom I wish to see. 
He takes me to the right houses, but when 
I see the patient I forget the complaint under 
which he is labouring. Only yesterday I 
encountered the rage of a man who was 
suffering from an acute attack of double 
pneumonia, by asking him if his rheumatic 
pains were better. Of course, this state of 
things can't go on. Don't tell me that all 
my fears are fanciful. I have studied 
diseases of the brain, and know that my 
case is a serious one." 

" It is serious, but temporary," I answered. 
I( You have just been down with the com- 
plaint which leaves the most extraordinary 
sequelae behind — a complaint which none of 
us with all our study have yet fully gauged. 
You are tired out, mind and body — you want 
rest. You must not attempt to make up your 
own medicines at present, I can't hide the 
truth from you ; if you do, the consequences 
may be serious. You must get away at once, 
Feveral. I told you a moment ago that I 
can get a good man to take your work for a 
month or even two months, if necessary; if 
you like, I will write to Russell on the 
subject to-night. He will, of course, see the 
necessity of your leaving," 

Feveral did not reply at all for a minute. 
After a pause he said :— 

" I suffer from other symptoms of a dis- 
tressing character. I am possessed by that 
very ordinary delusion of the insane — that I 
am followed, I walked to this house to-night, 
and, in spite of all my efforts to assure myself 
to the contrary, I could not resist the sus- 
picion that someone tracked me from the 
station to this house. The only thing that 

^MtoWTO rr^FTflldfflSAff insanity in 



our family. I cling to that fact as a drowning 
man does to a spar." 

" You are not insane," I replied, " but you 
will be if you don't take rest. All your 
present most distressing symptoms wilt dis- 
appear if you take my advice. You had 
better not return to Staffordshire. You are 
welcome to make my house your head -quarters 
until you have arranged matters with Russell. 
Meanwhile, telegraph to your wife to join you 
here — get away to the Continent before the 
end of the week. I promise you that long 
before the summer you will have returned to 
work like a giant refreshed." 

Feveral heaved a heavy sigh. After a time 
he rose from his chair and leant against the 

"I suppose there is nothing for it but to 
take your advice," he said* 

"You will not repent it," I answered. 
" Shall I write to Russell for you, to-night?" 

11 Better wait until the morning," he replied. 
" I will steep over all you have said, and give 
you my final decision then." 

" Well, I must leave you now," I replied, 
u I have promised to look in on one or two 
patients this evening; we shall meet at 

The next morning I was down early, and 

entered my breakfast-room before 

clock. I noticed that a place was 
only bid for one. " How is this, 
Harris ? " I said to my servant, 
11 Have you forgotten that Dr, 
Feveral is in the house ? " 

i4 Dr. Feveral left this morning, 
sir," replied Harris. " He came 
downstairs very early, and told me 
to tell you that you would find a 
note from him in your study- I in 
quired if he would like breakfast, 
but he said that he did not wish 
for anything, He was out of the 
house before half-past six, sir." 

I hurried off to my study in some 
alarm. Feveral's note was on the 
mantelpiece. I tore it open ; it ran 
as follows : — 

* My dear Halifax, — I regret to 
say that I find it impossible to 
remain in your house another hour. 

1 spoke to you last night about 
what I believed at the time to 
be a delusion, namely, that I 
was followed wherever I went. 
I now perceive that this is not 
a delusion, but a grim reality. 
Even in your house I am not 
safe, Last night two men en- 


tered my room — they watched me from 
behind the curtains, and did not leave until 
daylight. I have risen early, and am leaving 
London without delay. My fear is that 
I have already made some extraordinary 
mistake in my dispensary, and have, perhaps, 
during my queer lapses of memory, given 
medicine which has deprived a fellow-creature 
of life. In this way I have undoubtedly laid 
myself open to the punishment of the law. 
The men who came into my room were 
policemen. You will understand that I can't 
stay longer in London, —Yours, 

M Arthur Feveral." 

The moment I read this extraordinary 
letter I put my hat on and went out of the 
house. I went to the nearest telegraph 
office, and sent the following message to 
Mrs, Feveral ; — 

" Your husband called on me last night — 
he was not well ; he left suddenly this morn- 
ing, giving no address. If you have no clue 
to his whereabouts, come and see me at 

To my surprise, no reply came to this 
telegram for several hours. In the evening 
I found a yellow envelope lying on the slab 
in my hall. It was from Mrs. Feveral— it 
ran as follows : — 

"Thank you for telegram— no cause for 



8 4 


uneasiness. Arthur returned this morning, 
looking better and cheerful, He is busy in 
the dispensary now— I have not shown him 
your telegram. — Ingrid Fever al/' 

"This is not the last of what may turn out 
a bad business," I could not help saying to 

The next event in my friend's queer 
story scarcely surprised me- Within forty- 
eight hours after his sudden departure, Mrs, 
Feveral called to see me. I was just going 
out when she drove up to my door in a 
hansom cab, I had last seen her as a 
bride — she was now in deep mourning. She 
was a remarkably handsome young woman, 
with an extraordinary fairness 
of complexion which one 
seldom sees in an English 
girl. It suddenly flashed 
through my memory that 
Feveral had married a young 
girl of N or w eg ia n orig in. This 
fact accounted for the white- 
ness of her skin, her bright 
blue eyes, and golden hair* 
She stepped lightly out of the 
hansom, and, seeing me, ran 
up the steps to meet me* 

" Thank God you are not 
out/' she exclaimed. " I am 
in great trouble, Can I see 
you immediately ? " 

" Certainly, ' I answered, 
leading the way to my study as 
I spoke. " How is your hus- 
band, Mrs. Feveral ? I hope 
you are not bringing me bad 
news of him?" 

" I am," she replied. She 
pressed her hand suddenly 
to her heart. '* I am not 
going to break down/' she 
continued, giving me an eager 
sort of pathetic glance which showed me a 
glimpse into her brave spirit. u I mean to 
rescue him if a man can be rescued," she 
continued. "No one can help me if you 
can't. Will you help me ? Vou have always 
been my husband's greatest friend. He has 
thought more of your opinion than that of any 
other man living. Will you show yourself 
friendly at this juncture ? JJ 

"Need you ask ? " I replied. " Here is a 
chair— sit down and tell me everything." 

She did what I told her. When she began 
to speak she clasped her hands tightly to- 
gether. I saw by her attitude that she was 
making a strong effort to control herself. 

" I asked my husband to visit you a few 


days ago," she began. " He had spoken of 
some of his symptoms to me, and I begged 
of him to put his case into your hands. I 
hoped great things from your advice. Your 
telegram a couple of days ago naturally 
frightened me a good deal, but almost in the 
moment of reading it I received another from 
my husband, in which he asked me to expect 
him by an early train, and told me he was 
better. He arrived ; he looked cheerful and 
well. He said that he believed his grave 
symptoms had suddenly left him. Several 
patients were waiting to consult him \ he went 
off at once to the dispensary. I felt quite 
happy about him, and telegraphed you to that 
effect. In the evening he was 
wonderfully cheerful, and said 
he did not think it necessary 
to go to the expense of a change. 
He slept well that night, and in 
the morning told me that he 
felt quite well He went out 
early to visit some patients and 
came home to breakfast ; after- 
wards he spent some hours, 
as usual, in his dispensary. 
I had been very unhappy 
and depressed since the 
death of my child, but 
that morning I felt almost 
glad — it was so good to see 
Arthur like his usual self 
again. I was upstairs in 
my room — it was a little 
after twelve o'clock — w T h en 
someone opened the door 
in great excitement I looked 
up and saw Arthur— he almost 
staggered into the room — his 
hair was pushed wildly back 
from his forehead — he went 
as far as the mantelpiece and 
leant against it. 
" ' What has happened ? ' I asked- 
"He pulled at his collar as if it would 
choke him before he replied. 

*' * I have just committed murder, 1 he said 
— then he stared straight past me as if he 
did not see me. 

" l Oh, nonsense/ I answered; 'you can s t 
possibly know what you are saying. 1 

" f It is true — I have taken a mans life/ he 
repeated. ( I am ruined ; it is all up with 
me. There is blood on my hands/ 

" ( Sit down, dear, and try to tell me every* 
thing/ I said to him. 

"I went up to him, but he pushed me aside. 

" ' Don't/ he said ; ' my hands are stained 

with blood. I am nut fit even to touch you/ 





u * Well, at least tell me what has happened/ 
1 implored 

" After a time he grew calm, and I got him 
to speak more rationally. 

*' * You know those awful lapses of memory,' 
he began, * A young man— a stranger— came 
to consult me this morning, I diagnosed his 
cast with my usual care, and then went to 
prepare some medicine for him, I went into 
the dispensary as usual. I felt quite well, and 
my intellect seemed to me to be particularly 
keen. I remember distinctly putting some 
ammonia and some salicin into a glass- 
then followed an awful blank. I found 
myself standing with a bottle in one 
hand, and a glass containing medicine in 
another— I did something with the bottle, 
but I can't remember what After another 
period, in which everything was once again a 
blank, I came to myself. I found myself 
then in the act of giving a bottle made up in 
paper, and sealed in the usual way, to my 

11114 By the way/ 5 I said, " would you not 
like to take a dose at once? If so, I will 
fetch you a glass — even the first dose of 
this medicine will remove your troublesome 
symptoms almost immediately," 

*The man to whom I was speaking was a 
fine-looking young fellow of about three or 
four and twenty. He hesitated when I 

suggested that he should take a dose of 
medicine directly. After a pause, he said 
that he would prefer to take the medicine 
when he returned to his hotel I shook 
hands with him, he paid me his fee, and then 
left the house. A moment later I returned 
to the dispensary, I there made the follow- 
ing awful discovery. In a moment of 
oblivion I had put strychnine instead of 
valerian into the medicine. The quantity ot 
strychnine which I had used would kill any- 
one. I rushed from the house like a dis- 
tracted person, hoping to be in time to follow 
my patient I made inquiries about him, but 
could not catch sight of him anywhere. Even 
one dose of that medicine will kill him* He 
will die of convulsions even after the first dose 
— in all probability he is dead now. Oh, what 
a madman I was to return to Staffordshire ! * 
"I tried to comfort my husband, Dr. 
Halifax, but 1 soon found that my words had 
not the slightest effect upon him. I saw that 
he was not even listening to me — he crossed 
the room as I was speaking and, going to one 
of the windows, flung it open and leant half 
out He began to look up and down the 
street, in the vain hope of seeing his un- 
fortunate patient amongst the crowd. 

11 * I shall never see him again — he is a 
dead man, 1 he repeated. £ He is dead — 
his blood is on my head— we are ruined/ 

u ' We must try and find him immediately/ 
I said, 

** £ Nonsense, we shall never find him/ 
replied Arthur. 

"As he said these words, he left the 
room. I paused to consider for a moment, 
then I went to consult Dr, Russell. My 
husband's partner is, as you know> an old 
man, He was terribly disturbed when I 
told him what had happened, and said that 
immediate steps should be taken to find the 
poor fellow who had been given the wrong 
medicine. He went out himself to inquire at 
the different hotels in the town* Meanwhile, I 
began to search for Arthur. I could not find 
him in the house, I asked the servants if 
they had seen him. No one knew anything 
about him— he had not gone out in his 
carriage. Dr. Russell presently returned to 
say that he could get no trace of the stranger. 
Almost at the same time a telegram was 
brought to me, I tore it open — it was from 

t( ( Don't attempt to follow me/ he said in 
it ; ' it is best that we should never meet 
again. If I can I will provide for your 
future, but we must never meet again/ 

' Th ^f^?fiW*^HIGAN 



"That is the whole story," said Mrs. 
Feveral, standing up as she spoke. "After 
receiving my husband's telegram, I went to 
his bank and found to my astonishment that 
he had drawn nearly all the money we possess. 
He took a thousand pounds away with him 
in notes and gold. That fact seems to point 
to the conclusion that he had no intention 
of committing suicide ; but where has he 
gone — why did he want so much money ? 
What did he mean by saying that he 
would provide for me ? I know that he is 
not responsible for his actions — it is very 
unsafe for him to be alone. I thought 
the whole thing over, during last evening and 
during the long hours of the night, and 
resolved to come to you this morning. I 
must find my husband again, Dr. Halifax, 
and I want to know now if you can help me 
to search for him." 

" I certainly will," I replied ; " the story 
you have just told me is most disastrous. I 
warned Feveral the other day that he was in 
no fit state to dispense medicines at present 
He did very wrong not to take my advice. Of 
course, I ought not to blame him, poor fellow, 
for he is not responsible for his own actions. 
Two duties now lie before us, Mrs. Feveral." 
" Yes ? " she replied, eagerly. 
"We must first discover whether your 
husband has really caused the death of this 
man or not. After all, he may only have 
imagined that he put strychnine into the 

" No, no," she interrupted ; " there is no 
hope of getting out of the terrible dilemma 
in that way. My husband used two glasses 
to mix his medicines — they were found in 
the dispensary unwashed. Dr. Russell, on 
examining one, found some drops of strych- 
nine adhering to the bottom of the glass." 

" Then that hope is over," I answered. 
"Well, we must only trust that something 
prevented your husband's victim from taking 
the medicine. Our first duty is to find that 
young man immediately ; our second, to 
follow Feveral. Will you rest here for a few 
moments while I think over this strange case?" 
I left the room, ordered Harris to bring 
the poor young wife some refreshment, and 
went off to my consulting-room to think over 
matters. I was busy, it is true, but I re- 
solved to cast everything to the winds in the 
cause of my unhappy friend. I had known 
Feveral since he was a boy. I was not going 
to desert him now. I came back presently 
and told Mrs. Feveral that I had made ar- 
rangements which would enable me to devote 
my time for the present to her service. 

" That is just what I should have expected," 
she replied. " I won't thank you in words — 
you know what I feel." 

" I know that you are brave, and will help 
me instead of hindering me," I rejoined. 
" Will you accept my hospitality for to-night, 
Mrs. Feveral ? My servants can, I think, make 
you comfortable. I mean to go to Stafford- 
shire by the next train." 
"Why so?" 

" I must set inquiries on foot with regard 
to your husband's patient — I must find out 
his name and all possible particulars about 
him. I hope to be back in town with news 
for you early in the morning. In the mean- 
time, will you hold yourself in readiness to 
accompany me the moment I get a clue as 
to FeveraFs present whereabouts ? " 

" I will do exactly what you wish," she 

I saw that her lips quivered while she 
spoke, but I also perceived to my relief that 
she had no intention of breaking down. A 
few moments later, I found myself in a 
hansom cab driving as fast as I could to 
Paddington Station. I took the next train 
down to Staffordshire, and arrived at West- 
field, the small country town where Feveral 
had his practice, about nine o'clock in the 
evening. I drove straight to Dr. Russell's 
house. He was in, and I was admitted 
immediately into his presence. The old 
doctor knew me slightly. When I appeared 
he came eagerly forward. 

" I can guess what you have come about," 
he said : " that unhappy business in connec- 
tion with poor Feveral. His wife told me 
that she was going to town to consult you. 
Of course, I am glad to see you, but I don't 
know that you can do anything." 

"I mean to find the man if he is still 
alive," I rejoined. 

" The whole case points to suicide, does it 
not ? " replied Russell. " But sit down, 
won't you ? Let us talk it over." 

I removed my overcoat and sat down on 
the chair which Russell indicated. 

" I don't believe in the suicide idea," I 
began. " If Feveral meant to commit suicide, 
he would not have drawn a thousand pounds 
out of his bank. He is undoubtedly at the 
present moment suffering from a degree of 
mania, but it does not point in that direction. 
I want, if possible, to get a clue to his where- 
abouts; and, what is even far more important, 
to find out if the strychnine which, in a 
moment of oblivion, he put into his patient's 
medicine has really led to a fatal result" 
"That I can't tell," replied Russell. " The 
i LrOI IT Ur 

iLnnj. H iii 




young man who came to consult Feveral 
yesterday morning appears to be a stranger in 
Wtstfield. Just after Mrs, Feveral left for town, 
I succeeded in tracing him to a commercial 
hotel of the name of Perry's in a back part of 
the town. He must have walked straight to 
the hotel after leaving my partner s consulting- 
room. The waiter there tells me that he 
looked ill when he entered the house — he 
observed that he carried a bottle of medicine 
wrapped up in paper in his hand* The 
bottle seemed to be unopened when the 
waiter observed him — he asked for his bill, 
which he paid, and in ten minutes' time had 
left the hotel Yesterday was market day at 
West field, and there were a good many 
stiangers in the town. This young man 
evidently attracted no special attention — 
the waiter did not even know his name, 
He arrived early in the morning, asked for a 
room, had a wash and change ; had breakfast, 
of which he ate very little ; went out, 
evidently to consult my partner ; returned, 
paid his bill, and vanished. Where he is 
now, Heaven knows." 

"The cas*; must be put into a detective's 
hands immediately," I said. "Have you a 
good man in the town, or shall I wire to 
Scotland Yard ? " 

14 There is, I believe, a private detective 
in Short Street," answered Russell ; " but 
may I ask what is your object in following 
up this man's history ? If he really dies of 
the medicine, we are likely to know all about 
the affair soon enough," 

l( There is just one chance in a hundred 
that he has not taken the medicine," I 
replied, " and on that chance we should act 

I lOOgie 

promptly. 1 

"I can't follow 
you," replied the old 
man r impatiently. 
"If this young 
fellow never takes 
the medicine, why 
move at all in the 
matter? If the 
thing is known, it 
will be disastrous 
to us in every way. 
It is hard enough, 
Heaven knows, in 
these times of keen 
competition, to keep 
one's connection, 
and if it were bruited 
about that we had 
a mad doctor on the 
premises, who ad- 
ministered poison instead of cure, we should 
lose all our patients in a month's time." 

" Don't you see my point ? " I answered 
"In order to prevent your having a mad 
doctor on the premises, I insist on having 
this thing cleared up. If by a lucky chance 
the young man who called at your dispensary 
this morning is still alive and well, Feveral 
will in all probability recover from the mania 
which now threatens to overbalance his reason. 
From the nature of the medicine given, the 
patient was most likely only suffering from 
some simple disturbance. He refused to 
take the medicine while in Feveral's con- 
sulting-room — it is evident that he left the 
hotel with the bottle still unopened — it is not 
wrong, therefore, to infer that he was better. 
Being better, it is also on the cards, although 
I know it is scarcely likely, that he never 
touched the medicine at all. If this is the 
case and the fact is known, FeveraPs reason 
may be saved." 

11 Oh, poor fellow, I doubt if he is in the 
land of the living," interrupted Dr. Russell 

u I am certain he is alive," I replied; M but 
the fact is this, doctor : he will be insane to 
the end of his days if he has really killed 
that young man. If his supposed victim is 
alive and unhurt, Feveral will in all probability 
soon be restored to his normal state of 

" Perhaps you are right," said Dr. Russell, 
u and if so, you had better come with me at 
once to consult Hudson- He is 1 shrewd 
fellow, and will in all probability soon be able 
to trace the man to whom the strychnine was 
given. But how do you propose to find 
Feveral ? " 



want to set him to work without a moment's 
delay/ 1 

Dr. Russell rose, put on his hat and great- 
coat, and we soon found ourselves in Short 
Street. Hudson, the private detective, 
happened to be in — we had an interview 
with him, I put the case as briefly as 
possible in his hands; he promised to take 

when he saw him, and we continued our 

"What is that about Feveral sending a 
patient to Monte Carlo?" I asked, suddenly* 

u I knew nothing about it until North 
mentioned it," said Dr, Russell, " Both the 
Norths have been down with influenza — the 
younger suffered considerably ; he went 


it up ; assured us that it was a very easy and 
promising investigation, and told us that in 
all probability we should know whether 
Feveral J s victim was alive or dead by the 
following morning. 

As we were returning to Russell's house, a 
young man came up and spoke abruptly to 
the old doctor. 

" How do you do ? " he said, " Will you 
take a message from me to Feveral ? " 

" Feveral is from home at present," replied 
Dr. Russell, 

M What a pity. The fact is, I heard from 
my brother this morning. He particularly 
begged of me to see Feveral, or by some 
means to convey his thanks to him," 

" I hope your brother is better, North," 
said Dr, Russell, in a kindly tone. 

*' Thanks, he is getting as fit as possible — 
he thought Dr. Feveral would be glad to 
know about him — he is now at Monte Carlo, 
having a right good time— in short, his nerves 
are completely restored, and he proposes to 
return to work within the next fortnight 
or so." 

Dr, Russell said a few more words, assured 
North that he would give Feveral his message 

through just the sort of nerve storm which 
seems, in a different degree, to have affected 
poor Feveral himself, I did not know that 
Feveral had recommended him change— I am 
surprised that he sent him to a place like 
Monte Carlo," 

"Why so?" I asked. 

" On account of the gaming-tables. There 
never was a man who had such a horror of 
gambling as Feveral His father was bitten 
with the craze years ago, and, as a boy, he 
learnt something of the tremendous evils 
which spring from indulgence in such a 
vice. That he should recommend a patient 
to put himself in the way of temptation 
astonishes me a good deal." 

I thought deeply for a moment or two. 

" Do you happen to know," I asked then, 
" when the Norths had influenza ? * 

" Why do you ask ? " 

" I have a reason for wishing to know. In 
short, if Feveral gave this advice since his 
own attack, it may give me a clue to his 
present whereabouts." 

"I can't see your meaning," said Dr. 
Russell, with impatience. "As a fact, the 
youn^tV'Sft^ffiV^^iHkjilfBh the malady 



immediately after Feveral had made his own 
quick recovery — he had a short, sharp attack, 
followed by great depression — Feveral spoke 
about him to me one day. I said, casually, 
that he should have change — I did not know 
until to-night that my advice was acted 

" Thanks," I answered ; " your* information 
is of great importance. Now, if I can obtain 
North's address at Monte Carlo, I think my 
business here will be over, and I should like, 
if possible, to catch the midnight train to 

" What in the world do you mean ? " 

"I am scarcely in a position to explain 
myself at the present moment," I answered. 
11 Will you oblige me by sending a note round 
to North at once, asking his brother's 
address ? " 

" Why, yes; I will do that, certainly. Here 
we are, at home — you can have an answer to 
my note while we are at supper." 

Russell was as good as his word ; he sent 
a messenger to North's house asking him for 
the name of his brother's hotel at Monte 
Carlo. The answer came back quickly, and 
with it in my pocket I returned to London. 

As I hurried back to town in the express 
train, the thought which had suddenly darted 
through my mind on hearing that Feveral had 
ordered North to seek change at Monte Carlo 
gathered strength and substance. The advice 
which he gave this young man was exactly the 
reverse of what he would have given had 
his mind been in its normal healthy state. 
If in a hasty moment he had ordered North 
to seek change of scene in the very place 
where he would be most exposed to tempta- 
tion, was there not a possibility that he might 
himself seek the same relief? The fact of his 
having a horror of gambling in his sane 
moments would make it all the more probable 
that he would turn to it in his insane hours. 
In short, the idea grew stronger and stronger 
the more I thought it over, that North was 
the man to help me to find Feveral. In the 
early hours of the morning I reached town, 
and, driving straight to an office which was 
open all night, wired to North to his Monte 
Carlo address. I worded the telegram in the 
following manner : — 

" Dr. Feveral is ill, and has disappeared 
from home — look out for him at Monte 
Carlo. If he arrives, telegraph to me without 

Having sent off this message, there was 
nothing whatever to do but to wait. Until 
I heard either from Hudson, the detective; 
or from North, I could take no further steps. 

VoL x.-12. 

On the evening of that day I received a 
telegram from the detective — it was unsatis- 
factory, and contained the simple words : — 

" No news ; writing." 

The following morning I received his 

" Dear Sir," — it ran — " I am completely 
foiled in my efforts to trace Dr. Feveral's un- 
known patient ; beyond the fact that a young 
man in some respects answering to his de- 
scription was noticed by a porter at the railway 
station entering a third-class carriage for 
London, I have no tidings to give you. I 
will continue to make investigations, and 
will let you know immediately anything turns 
up. " Yours respectfully, 

"James Hudson." 

I had scarcely read this letter before Mrs. 
Feveral, who had moved to a hotel close by, 
called to see me. I showed her the letter. 
She read it with impatience. 

" Can nothing be done ? " she cried. 
" Have you no plan to propose, Dr. Halifax?" 

" I have the ghost of a hope," I answered, 
"but it is really so slight that I have not 
dared to tell it to you." 

" Oh, do not deprive me of the slightest 
shadow of hope," she answered ; " you don't 
know what my despair is and what my fears 

At that moment Harris entered the room, 
bearing a telegram on a salver. 

" Wait one moment while I attend to 
this," I said to Mrs. Feveral. 

I opened the envelope and saw, with a 
sudden leap at my heart, that my conjecture 
with regard to Feveral had been correct. 

"There is no answer, Harris," I said to 
the man. 

He withdrew. I glanced again at the 
words of the telegram, then placed it in Mrs. 
Feveral's hands. 

" There," I said, " this will explain itself." 

She almost snatched it from me, devouring 
the words with her eyes. They were as 
follows : — 

" Feveral arrived here last night — he is at 
the Hotel des Anglais — does not recognise 
me — visited the tables after dinner — lost 

" Thank Heaven he is found ! " exclaimed 
Mrs. Feveral. 

Tears streamed from her eyes — she let the 
little pink sheet of thin paper flutter to the 

" He is safe — he is alive," she gasped, with 
a choking noise in her throat. " How — how 
did you guess that he might be at Monte 




I repeated in a few words my reasons for 
telegraphing to North — her tears ceased to 
flow as she listened to me — her eyes grew 
bright — a look of determination and courage 
filled her beautiful face. 

"And now, what do you mean to do?" she 
asked, as soon as I paused. 

" Go to him at once," I answered. 

" I will come with you, if I may." 

" You certainly may. There is still time 
to catch the eleven o'clock boat train from 
Victoria ; we shall arrive in Paris this evening, 
and, if we are lucky, may catch the Mediter- 
ranean Express. Can you have your things 
packed and be back at this house in a quarter 
of an hour ? " 

" I can and will," she answered. 

She left me immediately. I gave hasty 
directions to my servants, saw the doctor 
who was to take charge of my patients in my 
absence, and was ready when Mrs. Feveral 
returned. We drove to Victoria, caught the 
boat train by a minute or two, and soon 
found ourselves rushing away to Dover. We 
arrived in Paris without any adventure, and 
were fortunate enough to catch the Mediter- 
ranean Express at the Gare de Lyon. I wired 
to North to tell him of our proposed visit, 
begged of him to meet me at the railway 
station, asked him to watch Feveral, and to 
say nothing of the fact that his wife and I 
hoped to reach Monte Carlo the following 

Mrs. Feveral and I reached Marseilles at 
eleven o'clock on the following morning. 
There we left the train for breakfast. During 
breakfast I said, suddenly : — 

"It would be well for us to arrange our 
plan of action now." 

She looked up at me in some surprise. 

" Is there anything special ? " she began. 

" I want you to promise me one thing," I 

" Yes, of course, anything," she said, with 
a heavj^ sigh. 

" I want you to be guided by me — I want 
you to obey me explicitly." 

"Yes, I will, of course ; but surely there is 
but one thing for me to do ? " 

"You think you must go straight to your 
husband ? " I said. 

" Certainly ; that is why I am visiting 
Monte Carlo." 

"It seems hard to say 'no* to such a 
natural desire," I said, " but I am anxious 
that you should not see Feveral on our 
arrival. All his future depends upon our 
acting with circumspection in the present 
crisis. I firmly believe that your husband's 

insanity is only of a temporary character, but 
one injudicious move would confirm his 
delusion and make him insane for the rest 
of his life. He has rushed from home now, 
under the impression that he has taken the 
life of a fellow-creature." 

"There is little doubt that such is the 
case," replied Mrs. Feveral. 

"I am by no means sure on that point 
I have asked Hudson, the detective, to 
telegraph to me at the Hotel M6tropole 
at Monte Carlo. I may find news 
on my arrival there. All depends on the 
nature of this news. When we reach our 
destination to-day, will you allow me to take 
you straight to a hotel, and will you stay 
there quietly until the moment comes for 
you to make your presence known to your 
husband ? " 

" It is hard for me to obey you, but I will," 
answered the poor wife, with a heavy sigh. 

We soon afterwards took our places in the 
train, and between three and four o'clock 
that afternoon arrived at Monte Carlo. Young 
North was waiting on the platform to receive 
us. He shook his head when I introduced 
myself to him. By a gesture, I warned him 
not to say anything in Mrs. FeveraPs presence. 
She was completely worn out by her journey, 
and fortunately did not notice the expressive 
action by which he gave me to understand 
that he had bad news. I took her to a 
large hotel not far from the Casino, saw 
that she was accommodated with a com- 
fortable room, and promised to return to see 
her after a few hours. I then went out with 
North. He walked with me to my hotel. 

" Well, I am glad youVe come," said the 
young fellow. "I have had an awful time 
ever since Feveral's arrival. He is as mad 
as a man can be — spends every moment of 
his time at the tables, eats nothing, drinks a 
good deal — either does not recognise me or 
won't. He is losing money at a frightful 
rate, but, from the manner of his play, seems 
to be absolutely reckless as to whether he 
loses or wins." 

" And where is he staying ? " I asked. 

"At the Hotel des Anglais. He has 
rooms on the first floor, and evidently denies 
himself nothing." 

I knew that Feveral was not rich. A little 
more of this reckless sort of thing, and he 
and his young wife would be beggars. 

" The poor fellow is not responsible for his 
actions at the present moment," I said. 

" No, he is as mad as a March hare," said 
North, with vehemence, 

"Well, I tmsit his madness will not con- 


9 1 


tinue," I replied, " He is suffering at the 
present moment from a sort of doable shock. 
The death of his child, followed immediately 
by an attack of influenza, produced the first 
bad effect upon his nerves — the second shock 
was worse than the first, but for that* he 
would not be losing money as fast as man 
can at the present moment" 

" What do you mean ? " said North. 

I then told him what had occurred a few 
days ago at Westfield. 

"The unfortunate thing is this," I said : "we 
cannot find the patient to whom Feveral gave 
the strychnine. I have put the best detective 
in Westfield on his track, but there are no 
tidings whatever of his whereabouts. I had 
hoped to have a telegram from the detective, 
Hudson, on my arrival. I desired it to 
be sent to this hotel, but none has yet 

" Hudson is a very sharp fellow/ 1 said 
North. "If anyone can help to solve a 
mystery, he is the man. I am glad you put 
the case into his hands. My father, who is 
supposed to be the best solicitor at Westfield, 
often employs Hudson, and thinks most 
highly of him." 

"Well," I said, "there is nothing to do at 
the present moment, but simply to wait 

One false step now would 
confirm Feveral's insanity." 
"Will you not let him 
know that his wife has ar- 
rived?" interrupted North. 
" Not at present ; I must 
be guided altogether by 
circumstances, It will be 
your business and mine, 
North, not to lose sight of 
him. If by any chance he 
leaves Monte Carlo, he 
must be immediately fol- 

Shortly afterwards North 
left me, and I went to seek 
an interview with Mrs, 
Feveral Poor girl, she was 
worn out in every sense of 
the word, I begged of her 
to take some rest, assured 
her that I would send for 
her the moment her pre- 
sence was likely to be of 
use, and went away. 

On the afternoon of the 
next day, I was walking in 
the gardens just outside the 
Casino, when I suddenly 
saw Feveral coming to 
meet me. The weather resembled that which 
we have in June in England, The tender blue 
of the sky was intensified in the deep blue 
of the Mediterranean. I was standing near 
a large bed of mignonette when Feveral 
walked by. He was dressed with care and 
looked like, what he was, a remarkably hand- 
some and well -set-up fellow ; he was evidently 
going to the Casino, He passed within arm's 
length of me, stared me full in the face, 
showed no gleam of recognition, and was 
about to pass me, when I could not help 
speaking to him. 

11 How do you do? " I said. 
He stopped when I said this and looked 
at me fixedly. A curious change came over 
his face ; his eyes, which had appeared quite 
frank and untroubled when first he saw me, 
assumed a secretive and almost sly expression. 
" I know who you are quite well," he said. 
" Will you oblige me by walking down this 
path with me?" 

He pointed to a shady avenue of eucalyptus 
as he spoke, I yielded immediately to his 
humour We walked together for a few 
paces, then he turned abruptly and faced 

"You fie gin detective officer from the 
Londjftl V^BSffY CdFq&IC flfe^Jtfd. "I know 



you quite well, and what you have come 
about. The whole thing is perfectly fair, 
and I have not a word to say. It is 
my last intention to defeat the ends of 
justice in any way, I have committed 
murder — I am stained with blood. The 
law must, of course, have its course — all 
I beg of you is to give me rime. Before I 
am arrested, I am anxious to win a sum of 
money to place my wife above want I came 
to Monte Carlo for this purpose, Hitherto, 
I have been strangely unlucky, but I have a 
presentiment that my luck is about to turn, 
1 shall win largely either this afternoon or this 
evening. After the gaming-tables are closed 
to-night, I am at your service, Inspector " 

He paused^ but I did not supply any 

u l will wait on you this evening at the 
gaming-tables, 1 ' I said, suddenly* 

"As you please," he replied, "but don't 
come until late — I am certain to win largely. 
You know yourself how important it is for a 
man in my position to provide for his wife," 

I nodded, and he left me. 
I sat down on a bench and 
watched his retreating figure. 
He went slowly up the steps 
into the Casino and vanished 
from view. The beautiful 
scenery which surrounded me 
— and, perhaps, there is no 
more beautiful scenery in the 
world than is to be found at 
Monte Carlo — no longer gave 
me pleasure. I thought very 
badly of Feveral His malady 
had progressed even farther 
than I had anticipated. If he 
had indeed killed his man, all 
hope of his recovering his 
senses was completely at an 
end, I went back to my hotel 
and spent some anxious hours 
there, during which I could 
settle to nothing. I had asked 
North to dine with me, and he 
came at the appointed time. I 
told him of my interview with 
Feveral — he shook his head as 
he listened, 

" He took me for one of the 
gardeners here," he answered, 
u and asked me how I acquired 
my very excellent English. His 
brain is quite gone, poor fellow, 
I must say that I am rather 
surprised, Dr, Halifax, that you 

don't " 

w Don't do what?" I asked, 
11 Don't use your authority, and take the 
poor fellow back to England* He surely is 
not in a condition to be at large/' 

" Any forcible step of that kind would 
make the case hopeless," I answered, " I 
am inclined to use the most cautious 
measures until we really know the fate of 
his unlucky patient." 

"And do you intend to follow him to the 
Casino to-night ? " said North, 

u Yes, I promised to be there — I shall 
keep my word/' 

" May X accompany you?" 
" Certainly ; I should like you to do so." 
" What about Mrs. Feveral? " 
" Poor soul, I must have an interview 
with her before I go," I answered, 

My brief interview with the poor young wife 
was full of pain, I told her that I intended 
to follow her husband to the tables, and would 
bring her word of the result before midnight 
She replied to this with a ghastly smile. As 
I was leaving the room she called after me. 




"You are expecting a telegram at the 
Hotel M£tropoIe from Mr. Hudson?" she 

" I asked him to wire there if he had any 
news," I answered. 

"Suppose his message comes while you 
are at the Casino ? " 

" In that case it must wait until I return," 
I replied. 

"Will you commission me to bring it to 
you, if it does come ? " she asked. 

" I would rather you did not come to the 
Casino," I replied ; " it is not a fit place for 
you to visit alone." 

She made no answer, but I noticed a 
queer, determined look creeping into her face. 

The hour was growing late now, and 
North and I hastened to the Casino. We 
followed the crowd into the vast building, 
obtained the usual cards of admittance, and 
soon found ourselves walking slowly through 
the suite of rooms which contain the 
celebrated gaming-tables. The hour had 
approached ten o'clock, and the numerous 
visitors from the different hotels were 
crowding in for their evening!s amuse- 
ment Both ladies and gentlemen were 
in full evening dress, and the scene which 
met my eyes was a very brilliant and 
animated one. Each of the long tables was 
surrounded by groups of players seated on 
chairs close together ; outside these groups, 
three or four rows deep, were crowds of 
spectators, some merely watching the play, 
others playing themselves over the heads of 
their more fortunate neighbours, others again 
waiting for their turns to find seats at 
the tables. The roulette tables, which 
were eight in number, were all crowded, 
but as we walked through the rooms, 
North whispered to me that Feveral 
despised roulette, and only played for high 
stakes at the trente et quarante tables. We 
passed the first of these, and eagerly scanned 
the faces of the men and women who sur- 
rounded it. Feveral was not amongst them. 
We stood for a moment or two to watch the 
play. A woman, splendidly dressed, was draw- 
ing attention to herself by the reckless manner 
in which she was flinging one-hundred- 
franc pieces on different divisions of the 
table. She lost and lost, but still went on 
playing. Her play was reckless in the ex- 
treme, and some people who stood near 
begged of her to desist. The terrible 
passion for gambling in its worst form was 
written all over her excited face. I turned 
away with a sense of disgust, and followed 
North to the other trente et quarante table. 

Here I found the object of my search. 
Feveral was in irreproachable evening dress ; 
his face was calm and pale, there was no 
apparent excitement either in his manner 
or appearance. He sat rather near one of 
the croupiers, and, to all appearance, was 
playing with extreme caution. From thirty 
to forty hundred-franc pieces were piled up at 
his left hand. He was making careful notes 
on a card which was placed in front of him, 
and was evidently playing with intelligence. 
At each deal of the cards he placed his gold on 
certain divisions, and, as we stood at a little 
distance and watched, I noticed that he won 
at every deal. His pile of gold grew larger, 
but his cautious and steady manner never 
deserted him. By degrees some people who 
were standing near began to remark on his 
invariable luck. Hearing a remark close by 
in the English tongue, he raised his eyes, and 
for an instant encountered mine. 

" I told you I should win to-night," he said ; 
" but you have come a little early, inspector. 
It is all right — quite right ; but you must give 
me time." 

As his success went on he began to double 
and quadruple his stakes — never once did he 
lose. A man who was standing near me 
said : — 

" That Englishman has been here for the 
last three nights, and he has not had a 
moment's success until now. He evidently 
means to carry all before him to-night. If 
only he has sense to stop playing before his 
luck turns, he may retrieve his losses, which 
must have been very considerable." 

" He plays with caution," I answered. 

"He does to-night," was the reply, "but 
last night and the night before his play was 
reckless beyond words." 

Some people in the crowd of spectators 
moved away at this moment, and North and 
I stepped into the space which they had 
vacated. By doing so we stood at FeveraPs 
left hand, and could look over his shoulder. 
In the midst of his play he glanced at me 
once or twice. My presence did not irritate 
him in the least. He supposed me to be a 
detective come to take him into custody — 
his impression was that his time was short to 
accomplish the task he had set himself to do 
— he went on doubling and doubling his 
stakes — still without any apparent reckless- 
ness — never once did he lose. 

The moments flew by, and the time for 
closing was not far off. Feveral was already 
a rich man. 

" Stop hirc: now. if you can," said North. 
" Let him take away his enormous winnings, 



and whatever happens, his wife is provided 
for. Stop him, for God's sake, doctor, before 
his luck turns." 

Before I could reply, a noise at my left 
caused me to turn my head — there was a 
slight commotion — a little pressure in the 
crowd, and I heard a woman's clear voice 
say: — 

" Pardon me if I ask you to allow me to 
pass. That gentleman sitting there is my 
husband — I have something I wish to say to 

The gentle, high-bred tone had an effect. 
I turned quickly, and saw, to my astonish- 
ment and horror, that Mrs. Feveral had come 
into the room. Unlike the other women 
present, she was in the quietest morning 
dress. Her fair face looked all the fairer 
because of the deep mourning which she 

"Your telegram has come at last, Dr. 
Halifax," she said to me. " I have taken 
the liberty to bring it to you — don't keep 
me, please — I must speak to my husband." 

Before I could prevent her she had reached 
his side, her arms were round his neck, her 
cheek was touching his. The crowded room, 
the gaze of the many spectators, were nothing 
to her — she only saw her husband. 

" Come away, darling," she said ; " come 
away at once." 

He started up when she touched him, 
and stared at her more in impatience than 

" Don't interrupt me, Ingrid," he said, " I 
will come presently. Leave me now ; I am 

He tried to resume his seat, but she clung 
to him, holding one of his hands in both of 
hers with a sort of desperation. 

11 No ; you must come now," she said. 
" You don't know where you are " 

u I don't know where I am ! " he inter- 
rupted, speaking fast and thick, his face 
scarlet now with intense excitement. " Yes, 
by Heaven ! I do. I am here because my 
hands are red with blood. I conceal nothing. 
All the world may know the truth. I am in 
this place to-night because I have taken a 
man's life. I am about to pay the forfeit of 
my crime. This detective," here he pointed 
at me, " will arrest me in a moment or two. 
Before I go, I wish to provide for you — 
don't touch me — I am a murderer. Hands 
off, I say." 

He pushed her from him. His eyes 
were wild. The people in the immediate 
neighbourhood heard his words — they began 
to move away from him with looks of 

horror, even the croupiers turned their heads 
for a moment. 

"Go home, Ingrid," said her husband. 
" Don't touch me. I have made a bargain 
with that man," again he pointed at me; 
" he is a detective from Scotland Yard. My 
bargain is that I am not to be arrested until 
I have won enough money to provide for 
your future. I am going to double my 
winnings. There is blood on my head — 
don't touch me." 

His last words were uttered with a shout 
Mrs. Feveral turned ghastly pale. Feveral 
sat down again by the table. At this 
moment I remembered the telegram, which 
was still unopen in my hand. I tore the 
seal open and read the contents. These 
were the words which almost took my breath 
away with relief and delight : — 

" Found Dr. FeveraVs patient yesterday — 
he is a young man of the name of Norris. He 
lives at Colehill, in Warwickshire. He took 
the doctor's medicine to the last drop, and says 
that it restored him to perfect health. On 
hearing this, I went straight to Dr. Russell, 
who examined the bottle from which the strych- 
nine was supposed to have been taken, and 
found it quite full. If Dr. Feveral took strych- 
nine from /he bottle by mistake, he must have 
poured it back again. It is evident that Norris 
had none in his medicine" 

" Read this," I said to Mrs. Feveral ; " read 
it quickly — tell your husband the truth — he 
may be saved even yet." 

Her quick eyes seemed to flash over the 
words — she took in the meaning in a couple 
of seconds. 

" You have committed no murder," she said 
to her husband. "Don't go on with that 
horrid play — it is unnecessary. You are not 
what you think yourself — you are innocent of 
any crime. The man you gave the medicine 
to is alive and well. Read this — read this." 

She thrust the telegram before his eyes. 
He read it — staggered to his feet, turned 
first red, then pale, 

"Is this true ? " he said, turning and fixing 
his eyes on his wife. 

" Yes, it is perfectly true ; it has just come. 
The man you gave the medicine to is well, 
quite well. Your medicine cured him instead 
of killing him ; you shall see him again when 
you return to England." 

Feveral put his hand to his forehead — a 
bewildered look crossed his face. 

" Then what, in the name of Heaven, am I 
doing here?" he exclaimed. 

He turned and looked with bewilderment 





The piles of gold which he had won lay 
close to him, but he did not touch them. 

"What am I doing here?" he repeated. 
"How did I get into this place? They 
play for money here ; I don't approve of it — 
I never play* Come, Ingrid, come home," 

He grasped his wife's hand and led her 
quickly out of the Casino, I followed the 
pair, but North stayed behind to gather up 
Federal's winnings. 

The next day, when I visited him, Feveral 
was quite sane. He received me with a look 
of surprise. 

11 1 can't imagine how I came to this 
place/' he said ; " I have not the least 
remembrance of how I got here— in fact, I 
recall nothing since the evening I interviewed 
you, Halifax, in Harley Street." 

" Well, you are here now, and a very good 
thing too," I interrupted 

u Yes," he replied, "and now that I am 
out of England, I think I shall stay away 

for a little, for although I feel ever so much 
better, I am not yet quite fit for work." 

•* Take a good, long change while you are 
about it," I answered. 

I saw, with a sense of relief, that Feveral 
had completely lost all knowledge of that 
terrible episode during which he believed 
himself to be guilty of having taken the life 
of a fellow-creature. The winnings, which 
North had carefully secured, counterbalanced 
the large sums which he had lost during 
his first two evenings' reckless play at the 

By my advice* Mrs. Feveral persuaded her 
husband to leave Monte Carlo that after- 
noon. They spent the next six months visa- 
ing different parts of Europe, and when he 
returned to his work in the tol lowing summer, 
he was completely restored to his normal 
state of health. I saw him shortly after his 
return, but he did not allude to the Monte 
Carlo incident — he is never likely to remem- 
ber anything about it. 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Notable Hymns. 

By Francis Arthur Jones. 

flT a recent Convocation of 
Canterbury a Committee of 
the Lower House was formed 
"to inquire into the hymnals 
now in general use, and to 
make any observations or re- 
commendations which such an inquiry may 
suggest." The Archbishop directed the 
appointment of the Committee, and the 
result of its inquiry was interesting and 
certainly remarkable. At the first meeting— 
of which Canon T wells was appointed 
chairman — it was agreed " to ascertain 
through the rural deans the hymnals in use 
in their respective deaneries." 

The information was readily supplied, and 
out of 810 deaneries {including 165 in the 
northern province) only 87 failed to send in 
reports. Of the 10,909 churches and 
chapels in the Province of Canterbury, the 
Committee were able to show that 8,601 
use "Hymns Ancient and Modern"; 1,062 
"The Hymnal Companion to the Book of 
Common Prayer" {edited bv the Bishop of 
Exeter) ; 937 "Church Hymns" (&P,GK.)j 
and only 309 any other hymnal. Out of 
2,750 churches and chapels in the Province 
of York, 1,739 use "Hymns Ancient and 
Modern " ■ 525 " Church Hymns " ; 416 
" Hymnal Companion ; and only 70 any 
other hymnal, Or, taking the two provinces 
together, the result is as follows : — 

Churches and Chapels. 
% * Hymns Ancient and Modern" ....„ 10,340 

1 ( Hymnal Cora [union " .......„,».« 1,478 

" Church Hymns " ,., - ^462 

Various , , ,... 379 

The most astonishing result of the inquiry 
was that out of 13,659 places of worship no 
fewer than 10,340 should use " Hymns 
Ancient and Modern," The phenomenal 
success of this work is all the more remark- 
able when it is remembered that, at the time 
of its introduction to the Church of England, 
its reception was by no means universally cor- 
dial, I well remember myself what an uproar 
occurred when this hymnal was first introduced 
in Chester Cathedral and certain churches. 

The Committee was further able to state 
that " Hymns Ancient and Modern " is 
adopted in twenty-eight English and Welsh 
cathedrals, is almost universal in the seven 
dioceses of the Scottish Episcopal Church, 
and is used throughout the Army and Navy, 
In the return furnished by Colonial bishops, 
it was conclusively proved that the hymnal 
is universally adopted in their respective 
dioceses. In the Irish Church the hymnal 
now in use is published by the authority of 
the General Synod, while, in Wales, Welsh 
hymns are generally sung. 

To the above information I had hoped to 
add a few statistics with regard to the pub- 
lishing and printing of u Hymns Ancient and 
Modern, 1 ' On applying, however (through 
Messrs. Clowes and Sons), to the Chairman 
of the Committee s I was informed that such 
information could not be supplied until my 
request had been laid before the members, 
On the question being brought up at a recent 
meeting, it was put to the vote whether the 
information should be given or not. Unfor- 
tunately the negatives were in the majority. 

In a former paper I hazarded the remark 
that Lyte's "Abide with me " was more often 
sung as an evening hymn than even Keble J s 
H Sun of my soul" I have since had reason 
to believe that their popularity is about equal 
— -one hymn being sung as frequently as 
the other. Certainly both are now held in 
greater esteem than that fine hymn, without 
the singing of which an evening service 
seldom closed : " Glory to Thee my God this 

Almost all Keble's hymns now in common 
use — u Sun of my soul," fct There is a Book, 
who runs may read," " When God of old came 
down from Heaven,* 1 " Blest are the pure in 
heart," etc— are taken from u The Christian 
Year," a volume which has had, perhaps, a 
larger circulation than that of any other work 
of a similar character, and from the profits of 
which Keble built Hursley Church, His 
evening hymn, "Sun of my soul. Thou 
Saviour deftr," . consists of verses selected 
from the poem beginning, " Tis gone, that 
brighUNtift&tMtt waMICHlGAN 



It is to the 
authorities at 
Keble College, 
Oxford, that I 
am indebted for 
the accompany- 
ing facsimile of 
* l Sunofmysoul. J ' 
In order to ob- 
tain the whole 

fiymn, as given in " Hyrnns Ancient and 
Modern," we had to photograph four large 
jiages of MS, and then cut out the six verses 

& /UlL J&t jtr*, &L. </W-*»^' ^*+ 


REV, J, KRliLlL. 

Author of " Sun of my Soul. 1 
From a Painting. 

required. In the 
college library 1 
found two MSS. 
of this hymn ; 
the one chosen 
bears an earlier 
date than the 
other, and con- 
tains Keble's 
In " Hymns Ancient and Modern n there 
are three tunes to " Sun of my soul " : the first, 
"Abends," being by Professor Oakley; the 
second, u Keble " (this tune is the copyright 
of the proprietors), by Dr, Dykes j the third, 
" Hursley," being from the German. I have 
had lent to me a fourth tune, also by Dr, 
Dykes, which has never before been published, 
and is, in fact, quite unknown. It was given 
in MS* by Dr. Dykes , shortly before his 
death, to a friend, among whose papers it 
has lain for many years* A short while since, 
however, the owner of this MS. also died, 
and his widow sent me the hymn to use as 
I thought fit The tune is very beautiful, 
and I here give it for the benefit of my 
musical readers, 

Sarah Adams, nee Flower, the authoress of 
" Nearer, my God, to Thee," and many 
other hymns and poems, was the daughter 
of Mr. Benjamin Flower, a staunch Non- 
conformist In her " Memoir of Mrs. Adams " 
(containing all the hymns she ever wrote), 
published at Essex Hall, Mrs. Bridell Fox 
tells us that £( Sarah was tall and singularly 
beautiful, with noble and regular features ; in 
manner she was gay and impulsive, her con- 
versation full of sparkling wit and kindly 

Vol. ■— 13. 



9 8 




£<*£.. 1.&r 


Sarah, the younger of two daughters, was 
born at Harlow, in Essex, on February 
23rd, 1805, her sister, Eliza Flower, being 
two years her senior. In his poem entitled 
" Blue stocking revels/' Leigh Hunt heads 
his list of female celebrities with " Mrs. 
Adams, rare mistress of thought and of 
, tears B ; while the elder sister, Eliza, who 
when quite a child developed a wonder- 
ful talent for 
music and com- 
position, is 
alluded to in the 
same poem ; — 

Some lady musician 

completed ihe 

Al the head of whom 

earnestly gazed 

Lizzie Flower. 

Nearly all Mrs* 
Adams's hymns 
and poems were 
set to music by 
her sister; 
"Nearer, my 
God, to Thee," 
being especially 
beautiful. It is not easy, however, and 
requires several good soprano voices, but 
when sung as it used to be at South Place 
Chapel during the ministry of Mr, W. J. 
Fox, father of Mrs. Bridell 
Fox, the full beauty of the 
composition is strikingly ap- 

A few years ago, Mrs. Fox 
placed complete copies of 
both Miss Flower's sacred and 
secular music in the British 
Museum, together with a copy 
of Mrs* Adams's religious 
drama, "Vivia Perpetua" (now 
out of print, but obtainable 
through Mudie's), her hymns, 
and the little memoir to which 
I have already alluded. In 
i8S8 ? a selection of Miss 
Flower's sacred music, in 
which is included ** Nearer, 
my God, to Thee," was 
published by Messrs. 
Novello. The hymn by 
which Mrs. Adams is 
best known was written 
in 1840, a short while 
previous to the publica- 
tion of " Vivia Perpetua"; it is the only 
composition of this authoress to be found in 
"Hymns Ancient and Modern." 



Author of ** Nearer my God to Thee," 

11 How she composed her hymns," Mrs. 
Fox says, "can hardly be stated. She 
certainly never had any idea of composing 
them. They were the spontaneous expres- 
sion of some strong impulse of feeling of the 
moment ; she was essentially a creature of 
impulse. Her translations would, of course, 
be, to a certain extent, an exception ; also, 
perhaps , when she was writing words for 

music already in 
use in the 
chapeL" Both 
sisters died at an 
early age — within 
less than two 
years of each 
other — Eliza in 
December, 1846, 
and Sarah on the 
14th of August* 
1848 ; hymns by 
the latter, with 
her sister's ex- 
pressive music, 
being sung at 
the funerals of 
The MS. of "Nearer, my God, to Thee," 
is now in the possession of Mrs. Bridell Fox, 
who has kindly allowed me to reproduce it 
here in facsimile. The original portrait of 
Mrs, Adams (a very slight 
sketch) is also in Mrs. Fox's 
possession. It is believed to 
have been made by Miss 
Margaret Gillies, miniature 
painter, and member of the 
old Society of Painters in 
Water Colours (now called the 
Royal) just before Mrs. Adams's 
marriage in 1834. 

"Jesu, meek and gentle," 
was written by George Rundle 
Prynne, in 1856, and first 
appeared in a collection of 
hymns, edited by Mr. Prynne, 
entitled M A hymnal suited for 
the services of the Church, 
together with a selection of 
Introits." In 188 1 the 
author published his 
"The Dying Soldier's 
Visions, and other Poems 
and Hymns," and in this 
volume " Jesu, meek and 
gentle, " was alsoincluded. 
Owing, however, to some slight error, pos- 
sibly in the cor recti en of the proof-sheets, the 




flnxutsji tUuru f»*ca-y tt&rC f 

facsimile ok ms f of the fisst two vekses of 

11 JHSU, KEEfc ANt) CiKNTUE," 

instead of * l Je$u, meek and gentle," as origi- 
nally written, This was the more unfortunate 
as many compilers of hymnals took their 
copies from Mr, Prynne's book, thinking, not 
unnaturally, that, if nowhere else, it would 
certainly appear in its 
original form in the 
author's own work. 

Mr. Prynne was born 
in 1818 and was edu- 
cated at St Catherine's 
C u 1 1 ege, Ca m br i dg e , 
where he took his M. A. 
degree in 1861. For 
nearly fifty years he 
has been vicar of St 
Peter % Plymouth, one 
of the largest parishes 
in the Exeter Diocese, 
The Church of St 
Peter, while being one 
of the most beautiful 
in Plymouth, is ren- 
dered doubly interest- 
ing by being the archi- 
tectural work of the 
vicar's brother, Mr 
George Fellowes 
Prynne, The church 
also contains many 
beautiful pictures by 
various members of the 
Prynne family. 

In a conversation 
which I had with Mr. 
Prynne a short while since 
at St. Peter's Vicarage, the 
author informed me, while 

fcKV« ii. K. '1'HVXNE. 

Author of ll Je^u, meek a«d j£eniW 
Fflfftn if Photo, hff Hmth rif liHliirtifham. 

Prynne played to him from his favourite 
composer. Almost unconsciously, linos 
came into his head which seemed to 
suit the melody, and taking out a 
pencil he scribbled the verses on the 
back of an envelope* 

A short time after its publication, 
the author went for a holiday to Rome, 
and while there was asked to conduct 
the service at the English Church* 
When the time came to give out the 
hymns, he was amused to find himself 
delivering the first line of his own 
composition: "Hymn No. — , 'Jesu t 
meek and gentle, 1 " The pleasure he 
experienced at finding that it had so 
soon made its way to Rome was, if 
anything, intensified on learning from 
the vicar that the name of the author 
had never occurred to him ; it was merely 
an example of a very happy coincidence, 
Mr. Prynne is the author of three volumes 
of M Parochial Sermons," and also the 
11 Eucharistie Manual," published a few 
years since. 

The authoress of 
"I think, when I read 
that sweet Story of 
old," is Mrs, Jemima 
Luke, a lady whose 
long life has been 
almost exclusively de- 
voted to mission work 
at home, Mrs. Luke 
is the daughter of the 
late Mr. Thomas 
Thompson, the origi- 
nator of the Home 
Missionary Society and 
one of the founders of 
the Sunday School 
Union, Born in 1813, 
Mrs. Luke is now a 
white-haired old lady, 
living at Newport, Isle 
of Wight, and still 
trying {so she says) to 
account for the popu- 
larity of her one con- 
tribution to hymnody ! 
In 1841 she under- 
took the editing of a 
c h i 1 d r e n's m issionary 
magazine, and it was 
about the same time that 
41 The child's desire" was 

...,,■.. written. Here is the story 

penning the accompanying MS., that the of its composition, as given in her own 

hymn was written one evening while Mrs, 




ffiL, fy&Jol'<4-&£ 

jfj^tT^l &fl~> 6 £*-*># A-^. /O^ &+*,*&**. 

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"I went," she says, " in the year 1841, to 
the Normal Infant School in Gray's Inn 
Road to obtain some knowledge of the system. 
Mary Moffat, afterwards Mrs, Livingstone, 
was there at the same time, and Sarah Roby, 
whom Mr. and Mrs. Moffat had rescued in 
infancy when buried alive, and had brought up 
with their own children. Among the march- 
ing pieces at Gray's Inn 
Road was a Greek air, 
the pathos of which 
took my fancy, and I 
searched Watts and 
Jane Taylor and several 
Sunday - school hymn- 
books for words to suit 
the measure, but in vain. 
Having been recalled 
home, I went one day 
on some missionary 
business to the little 
town of Wellington, five 
miles from Taunton, in 
a stage coach, It was 
a beautiful spring morn- 
ing ; it was an hour's 
ride, and there was no 
other inside passenger. 
On the back of an old 
envelope I wrote in 
pencil the first two of 
the verses now so well 
known, in order to teach 
the tune to the village 
school supported by my 
step-mother, and which 
it was my province to 
visit. The third verse 
was added afterwards to 
make it a missionary 
hymn. My father super- 


Author of u I think when I read that sweet story of old/" 

From a PKnfa by Itrbtnham * Co.* Sawdtwit 

f*&l*T~i<t**T** AJ 

intended the Sunday school in which we 
taught, and used to let the children choose 
the first hymn. One Sunday the children 
started their new hymn. My father turned to 
his younger daughters and said, 'Where did 
that come from ? I never heard it before.' 
£ Oh ! Jemima made it,' they replied Next 
day he asked for a copy, and sent it, without 
my knowledge, to the 
'Sunday School Tea- 
chers 1 Magazine. 1 But 
for this it would prob- 
ably never have appeared 
in print." 

Mrs. Luke adds that 
she regards her com- 
position as "a little 
inspiration from above 
and not ( in me,' for I 
have never written other 
verses worthy of pre- 

Another hymn, very 
precious to "little 
pilgrims," is Albert 
Midlane's u There's a 
Friend for little child- 
ren," written, as I men- 
tioned in my last paper, 
at Newport, Isle of 
Wight Not far distant 
from Mr* Midlane's 
residence is the house 
in which Thomas Binney 
lived during hi* minis- 
try at Newport, and 
where he wrote his 
admirable and popular 

hymn, " Eternal light, 
~l „} 


ibipal light. " 




bom in 1825, and began writing hymns Mr. Midlane is about to publish an entirely 

at a very early age. " My first used hymn," new children's hymnal of nearly 400 original 

Mr, Midlane informs me, "was written on hymns (save those which have found their 

the 24th May, 1844, under the title of way into print already) of almost every 


* God bless our Sunday schools/ and (scarcely 
necessary to add) sung to the 'National 
Anthem/ Fifty years ago this coming sum- 
mer it was first sung as our anniversary 
hymn, and still it finds expression from the 
lips and, I trust, from the hearts of many 
children. It was first 
published in the 
( Baptist Children's 
Magazine ' for July, 


The hymn, how- 
ever, by which Mr, 
Midlane will be 
longest remembered 
is " There's a Friend 
for little children/' 
written on the 37th 
February, 1859. This 
hymn formed a con- 
tribution to a little 
serial called "Good 
News for the little 
Ones," edited by C.H. 
Mackintosh, and pub- 
lished by Broom, and 
was first printed in 
that publication as the 
final article for the 
year 1859, under the 
heading of " Above 
the bright blue sky*" 
As written and first 
print ed t the opening verse began, "There's a 
rest for little children" — "Friend" being 
subsequently substituted for "rest" Michael 
Watson's setting of this hymn has given it a 
prominent place among the favourites of the 
"Service of Song." 


Author of * A There* a Friend For little children.*' 
From a Fhatu. by Bradinff, JVcu?j»rf. 

description, and embracing a wide Scriptural 
range, suitable for children — "Home and 
School." The MS, of "There's a Friend for 
little children," here reproduced, is from Mr. 
Midlands note-book j the corrections were 
made when the fair copy was written out for 

the magazine in which 
it first appeared. The 
photo, of Mr, Midlane 
was taken in 1881. 

" Father, let me 
dedicate," the most 
beautiful of New 
Year hymns, was 
composed by Canon 
Laurence Tuttiett 
more than thirty-three 
years ago* It was 
first published in 
1864, in the author's 
volume entitled 
"Germs of Thought 
on the Sunday Special 
Services," and in 1869 
it was included in the 
S.P.C.K.'s "Psalms 
and Hymns." It next 
appeared in the 
"Anglican Hymn 
Book," and to-day it 
would be difficult to 
find a hymnal in which 
it is not included. In 
America it has undergone considerable 
alteration at the hands of various editors 
(whose ideas of improvement are peculiar), 
and even in England it has not altogether 
escaped* In many hymnals t the last stanza 

following form : — 




If we must, in grief and loss, 

Thy behest obey ; 
f beneath the shadowing cross 

Lies our homeward nay, 
We will think what Thy dear Son 

Once for us became, 
And repeat, till life is done, 

Glorify Thy name. 

In this verse not one 
single line, with the excep- 
tion of "Glorify Thy 
name," adheres to the 
original, and yet an editor, 
after thus mutilating a 
fine hymn, has the cool- 
ness to place the author's 
name at the foot! How- 
ever, in fti Hymns Ancient 
and Modern " it appears 
in its original form, 
as may be seen by 
comparing it with the 

Another popular hymn 
by Canon Tuttiett, and 
one which seems to be 
growing in favour, is "0 
quickly come, dread 
Judge of all," written ten 
years prior to " Father, 
let me dedicate," It was 
first published in "Hymns 
for Churchmen," in 
1854, and was included 
in the appendix to 


Author of M Father, let mc dedicate/ 
From a PhittoffraplL 

sj[- /*+J*tl* 

il Hymns Ancient and Modern " sixteen 
years later. 

Though Canon Tuttiett has written many 
theological works, and is known as a powerful 
and eloquent preacher, it is as a hymnist that 
he will probably b^ longest remembered. 
It might appear strange to a thoughtful 
mind that, in Canon 
Twells* fine hymn, the 
opening line should be 
seemingly in direct con- 
tradiction to the text. 

" At even, when the sun 
did set," writes St. Mark ; 
" At even, ere the sun 
was set," sings the 
hymnist. In one hymnal, 
Mr. Thring's M Church of 
England Hymn Book," I 
notice that this line has 
been altered to suit the 
exigencies of the text, but 
the alteration was made 
by a hand other than 
Canon T wells 1 (though 
with his permission), and 
the author adheres to the 
words as he first wrote 
them, as may be seen by 
a glance at the MS. 

"There is nothing 

particular to be said 

™ about l At even,'" Canon 

iffiERsihMftfrai me some 



10 3 

ft*tw* 9 tSU^ JCjItof eh'j tt>t^ thy 
fol f&* tliff kwt fifUfHtJ viH* f/u>i%. J^4 

&L hr W*V**»i/^W fay *$~', 


months ago, "It was 
request of my friend, Sir 
that time Chairman of * Hy 
Modern/ who said they 
evening hymn. They 
were, at the time, .about 
to bring out their first ap- 
pendix, and it was in this 
appendix that the hymn 
was first published, I 
have been asked for per- 
mission to insert it in 
127 hymnals, and many 
more have taken it with- 
out asking me. No other 
of my hymns has ob- 
tained a similar popularity, 
although those in the last 
supplement of i Hymns 
Ancient and Modern/ 
Nos. 506, 51 1 ? 528, and 
533, are a good deal sung, 
and I am being constantly 
asked for leave to insert 
them in fresh hymnals. 
The hymn about which 
you ask (* At even, ere 

written at the 

Henry Baker, at 

mns Ancient and 

wanted a new 


If "jftj 



Author of 

the sun was set ') was written and first 

published in 1868." 

To give some idea of the popularity of 

Canon 1 wells' hymn, I might mention that 
the number of copies of 
it printed off must cer- 
tainly exceed 60 millions^ 
including its circulation in 

Many hymns, alas! owe 
their popularity to the 
tunes to which they are 
sung; this certainly can- 
not be said of "At even, 
ere the sun was set," for a 
more uninteresting melody 
than Johann Scheffler's 
" Angelus," to which it is 
allied, it would be difficult 
to find. "At even' 8 will 
ever remain one of the 
finest hymns in the lan- 
guage, but its popularity 
would not be lessened by 
the substitution, or at least 
the addition, of a second 
and a happier tune. 


* At even, ere the sun w»w siti. ' 

Pr&m a Phattt. hy hiayaU d" (fc, Brighton. 

by Google 

Original from 

Some Remarkable Wedding-Cakes. 

By Framley Steelcroft, 

^JNLV a very small percentage 
of the readers of this article 
will be able to recall Her 
Majesty's wedding-day, Mon- 
day, February 10th, 1840, 
when the theatres were open 
free to the public. In the evening a banquet 
was given at St. James's Palace, and covers 
were laid for 130 persons. There were three 
tables, and at the upper end of the Queen's 
table stood the two chief wedding-cakes, one of 
which is depicted here. This cake was made 
by Messrs, Gun- 
ter, of Berkeley 
Square, and be- 
fore being sent 
to the Palace, it 
was exhibited on 
the firm's pre- 
mises to more 
than 21,000 per- 
sons. It is said 
that besides the 
two principal 
there were nearly 
a hundred smaller 
ones, which were 
subsequently cut 
up and distri- 
buted, practically, 
all over the world. 
The second 
wedding - cake 
that figured on 
this historical oc- 
casion was de- 
signed by Mr. 
John C. Maud it t, 
yeoman confec- 
tioner to the 
Royal household. It weighed nearly 3001b, , 
and was 14m. thick and 12ft. in circumference. 
On the top was seen a figure of Britannia 
blessing the bride and bridegroom, who were 
somewhat incongruously dressed in the 
costume of ancient Rome. These figures 
were nearly a foot high t and were, of course, 
moulded in sugar. At the feet of Prince 
Albert was the figure of a dog, denoting 
fidelity \ while at Her Majesty's feet were a 

jt . : 

Frurn a Dt airier by J. Ulovtr. 

pair of turtle doves, denoting the felicity 
of the marriage state, A large Cupid 
was also seen w T riting the date of the 
marriage in a book, and at the top of 
the cake were many bouquets of white flowers, 
tied with true lovers' knots of white satin 
ribbon. Among the decorations of this 
wedding-cake may also be mentioned four 
white satin flags, on which were painted the 
Royal Arms. 

The next free theatrical night marked the 
marriage of the Prince of Wales, on March 
_^__^ roth, 1863, For 
many days the 
presents were on 
view at Garrard's, 
in the Hay- 
market, and they 
included a par- 
ticularly massive 
wedding-ring and 
keeper, the latter 
set with six 
precious stones, 
selected and 
arranged so that 
their initial letters 
formed the word 
"Bertie," The 
stones were re- 
spectively a beryl, 
emerald, ruby, 
turquoise, jacinth, 
and another 
emerald* Also 
among the pre- 
sents figured 
eight lockets for 
the bridesmaids, 
which were set 
with coral and 
diamonds — red and white being the colours 
of Denmark, In the centre of each was 
a cipher in crystal, forming the letters 
11 A. E, A.," after a drawing by the late 
Princess Alice. The bridal garments were 
ordered from Mr. Levysohn, of Copenhagen, 
and were, of course, on view at his shop in 
the Kjobmagergade. On this occasion a 
splendid wedding-cake was made by Her 

Majes W«ffl§m%7f ffiawr but one 




From a Photograph. 

of equal importance was made by the Royal 
confectioners^ Messrs, Holland, of Chester, 
and this great cake is shown here. This is 
what is known as a w three-tier " cake, and 
around the base were festoons composed of 
the rose, thistle, and shamrock, entwined 
with the Royal and Denmark Arms. On the 
tiers were placed alternately reflectors and 
figures of seraphs with harps ; also satin flags, 
on which were painted miniature likenesses 
of the Prince and Princess* The whole was 
surmounted by a temple embedded in orange 
blossoms and silver leaves, on the summit of 
which was placed the Prince's coronet and a 
magnificent plume of ostrich feathers. The 
cake, which stood nearly 5ft, high, was of 
colossal proportions. 

1 may mention, incidentally, that the largest 
cake ever made by Messrs. Gunter was that 
which figured among the Jubilee presents. 
This cake was 13ft. high, and weighed a 
quarter of a ton, its value being about ^300. 
The smallest wedding-cake made was ordered 
by a lady for a child. It was a doll's 
wedding-cake, 3m, high, and weighing about 

Vol. a.^W. 

four ounces ; it cost ios>, because 
it was perfect in every respect, and 
the confectioner had great difficulty 
in getting moulds small enough. 

The next wedding-cake shown 
here is that of Prince Leopold 
(Duke of Albany) and Princess 
Helen of Waldeck Pyrmont, who 
were married on April 27th, 1882. 

This wedding-cake stood nearly 
6ft. high, and was mounted on a 
richly-carved gilt stand, which was 
first employed at the wedding of 
the Prince of Wales. The total 
weight of this cake was about 
2cwt. r and the decoration of the 
lower tier consisted of four groups, 
representing the four continents of 
Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; 
these being adapted from the 
Albert Memorial in Hyde Park. 
Considering the great difficulty of 
working in material like sugar, and 
the fact that all the forms have to 
be built up by squeezing the liquid 
sugar out of a small hole in a piece 
of paper, it is perfectly amazing to 
notice the artistic success of these 
Royal wedding cakes 





There were also to be noticed on this par- 
ticular cake a number of satin -surfaced 
pillars, painted with the lily and its foliage. 
These pillars were surmounted by vases con- 
taining the characteristic flowers of England, 
Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, and at the 
base of the vases were reading Cupids, 
emblematic of the literary and studious tastes 
of the Royal bridegroom. At the salient 
points of the base were swans, associated 
with sea-shells, in which were dolphins at 

The second tier was octagonal in shape, 
and in the spaces between the sat in -surfaced 
pillars, painted with orange blossoms, were 
medallions richly worked In colour^ and 
representing the arms 
and monogram of the 
bride and bridegroom. 
The pillars of this tier 
were surmounted by 
Cupids bearing flowers, 
from which sprang jets 
of mimic spray to 
water the flowers con- 
tained in the vases 

The third tier of 
this cake was orna- 
mented with wedding 
favours and festoons, 
and on the top of it 
was a pavilion con- 
taining a fountain 
playing, with doves 
drinking from the 
basin- Above this 
again was a terminal 
stage, supporting cor- 
nucopias, from which 
issued the various 
fruits of the earth. 
In the midst of these 
emblems of plenty 
stood a Cupid, bear- 
ing upon his shoulders 
a vase overflowing 
with the most beauti- 
ful flowers. 

It is interesting to 
note that each of the 
Royal bakers has a 
distinct recipe, which 
is guarded like a 
Cabinet secret. 
Roughly speaking, a 
bride-cake takes about 
half a day to bake, 
but after the tins have 

been removed from the oven and the cake 
turned out, the serious part of the work only 
commences — for a wedding-cake has to be at 
least six months old before it is fit to be eaten. 
During this time it is kept in an enormous 
warehouse, called the il cake-room," and each 
firm keeps a separate staff of artists em- 
ployed in making new designs and altering 
the fashions in wedding-cakes. Natural 
flowers are the great feature in modern 
wedding - cakes ; white roses and orange 
blossoms being the most popular varieties in 
use, A good deal of ingenuity, however, 
has to be exercised in keeping these fresh, 
for a faded wedding-cake would indeed be 
a grievous sight. The Royal Chester bakers 

(Messrs- Holland) have 
got over the difficulty 
by having narrow, 
white porcelain cups 
sunk in among the 
decorations^ thus en- 
abling each natural 
bouquet to rest in 

An adequate idea 
of the magnitude of 
this , business may be 
realized when I men- 
tion that Messrs. Hol- 
land's standing stock 
of wedding - cake is 
about 2,ooolb. The 
curiously statuesque 
cake, which we now 
reproduce, was made, 
appropriately enough, 
for the Princess Louise, 
on the occasion of her 
wadding with the 
Marquis of Lome, 
which took place on 
March 2i5t 3 1 87 1, 
This cake was de- 
signed and made by 
Mr. Samuel Ponder, 
the present chief con- 
fectioner of Her 
Majesty's household, 
Mr. Ponder tells 
that this cake 
about 5ft. loin* 
height, and weighed 
a^ewt The four 
figures at the angles 
were modelled from 
the statues on Hoi born 
Viaduct, and the cake 

*~.»* M * W7ERSITY0F Mifflin 



ro «is built in four tiers. 




Frvm a Photo, fry H^ffktM <4 M«Kim, Hvdt, 

This very artistic wedding - cake was sur- / 
mounted by a replica of Canova's u Hebe," 
Mr. Ponder having procured a plaster model 
of the statue at a decorator's in Leather Lane. 
It would appear that there is no limit to 
the vagaries of those who have wedding- 
cakes made to order. One titled lady gave 
Messrs, Gunter an order for a cake weighing 
i2olb<, and standing 5ft. high, the whole cake 
to be trimmed with splendid ropes of ostrich 
feathers to match the bridal dress. An 
M. F. H/s wedding-cake was entirely de 
corated with hunting trophies. Around the 
drum of the cake was an imitation, in sugar, 
of a rough wooden palisade, round which were 
represented huntsmen, hounds, and fox— in 
fact, a lively hunt in full swing. Round the 
cake itself were medallions showing dogs' 
and foxes' heads, horses, whips, and brushes. 
Somewhat similarly, an angler will want 
piscatorial trophies reproduced on his cake ; 
the architect likes to see his magnum opus 
in the form of a " temple " on the third tier ; 
and yachting and military men, cricketers, 
and musicians frequently /provide special 
designs for their own wedding-cakes. Even 
heirlooms are reproduced in coloured sugar on 

wedding-cakes ; for example, I am 
informed that the famous vase known 
as ** The Luck of Eden Hall," which 
has been in the possession of the 
Musgrave family for the past 500 
years, was reproduced by a well- 
known confectioner, and served to 
adorn the bridal-cake made for the 
marriage of the daughter of Lady 
Brougham and Vaux, 

Princess Beatrice was married on 
July 23rd, 1885, and the cake made 
011 that occasion by the Royal Con- 
fectioner, Mr. Ponder, was 6ft high, 
and weighed 28olb. ; it is shown in 
the accompanying illustration. 

The next wedding - cake that 
figures here is that of the Princess 
Helena and Prince Christian, whose 
marriage ceremony was performed 
in the private chapel attached to 
the Royal apartments at Windsor 
Castle, The Queen gave the bride 
away, and a luncheon was subse- 
quently served privately to the 


From a Jjncii-inp. 



' rqyal* \vkuim\u-cakk ok the puke ov 
yohk and princess may. 
From a 1'hMo. bif liunn it Stuart t £, Tit*. ijnu>lrnnt r Ric&HumdL, 
A'unvj, and r**, btoane btrtet, *', M . 

members of the Royal Family in the Oak 
Room, visitors being entertained at a bullet 
in the Waterloo Gallery, 

One of the most important questions I 
put to the Royal confectioner on the occasion 
of my visit to him at Buckingham Palace, 
had reference to the most important wedding- 
day, from his point or view. Mr, Ponder un- 
hesitatingly replied that the Duke of York's 
wedding with Princess May entailed by far 
the greatest strain upon him. The principal 
cake on this occasion was made at Windsor ; 
it was 6ft loin, high, and weighed between 
acwt. and 3cwt. This cake, which is shown in 
the accompanying reproduction, took the Royal 
confectioner five weeks to make, there being as 
many as thirty-nine separate pieces of plaster 
in some of the figure moulds. Altogether, 
there were at this wedding six immense cakes, 
on what is known as the " general table*" and 
in addition to these, Mr. Ponder made six- 
teen or eighteen smaller cakes for cutting up, 
each cake averaging about 22IL Moreover, 

Messrs. Gunter say that they cut up no fewer 
than 500 slices of wedding-cake on this 
occasion, the smallest slice weighing about 
half a pound, and the largest, a little over 
rzlb. One of this same firm's confectioners 
subsequently attended at the Royal kitchen, 
and, armed with a saw and a special knife, 
cut up about i6cwt. of wedding-cake in three 

The second of the " York " wedding-cakes, 
reproduced here, was made by Messrs. 
Bolland, to the order of the Prince and 
Princess of Wales; it was about 4ft. 6in, 
high, and weighed 2241b. 

The ornaments of the cake were re- 
presentative of the sailor - life of Prince 
George. The divisions between the pillars 


From a Photo, by Gtitin £ Stiitirt, 2, Ths. ifnadrtint, ltichttion.'jL t 
Ifm-ny, nod ies r .Sloans tfrtrt,. & tt F . 

were occupied by four large panels re- 
presenting H,M.S, Thrush and Melampus f 
modelled in bass-relief from photographs 
specially taken. This cake has a somewhat 
interesting history. On being completed 
it was sent from Chester to Buckingham 
Palace, where it was built up the afternoon 
before the wedding. At three o'clock 
on the eventful day itself, however, the 
RoyalHflt*f^T^WilC^iVt|4 a telegram, 



ordering them to remove the cake from the 
Palace to Marlborough House — no easy 
matter, even in the most favourable circum- 
stances. The ornate structure was taken 
down, and its sections placed in two disreput- 
ahle-looking "growlers" — positively the only 
conveyances to be obtained in the crowded 

Lest anyone should think that, in sending 
out slices of wedding-cake from the Royal 
palaces to distinguished persons at home 
and abroad, complimentary cards in ornate 
silver designs would be prepared, we re- 
produce here one of the severely plain 
cards that actually accompany such compli- 

^L *a«w*^*^^ 

^M&p ^d^z^& <:s&tf</it 

%CMj* «^M*c^s/?j%U 

and almost impassable streets. The con- 
fectioners tell a woful tale of the subsequent 
funereal procession to Marlborough House, 
with a surging crowd pressing against, and 
almost overturning, the wretched cabs. This 
trying ordeal was over at last, however, and I 
am told that the Prince of Wales himself 
supervised the reconstruction of the big 
cake on a sideboard in the Banqueting 

Not to be outdone at this wedding, Scot- 
land came forward in the persons of Messrs. 
McVitie and Price, of Edinburgh, who pro- 
duced another magnificent wedding-cake, also 
of a naval character. This stood 6ft. 4m. in 
height ; the circumference of the lowest tier 
was nearly Sft, ; the total weight of the cake, 
46&II)., and its intrinsic value about 140 
guineas. To give some idea of the amount 
of work involved in the execution of such 
an order, it may be mentioned that the 
anchors, davits, and blocks for tackle, etc., 
had to be specially made by one set of 
workmen ; the flowers with which the cake 
was profusely decorated, by another set \ 
while the making and draping of the 
stand was intrusted to a famous firm of 
Regent Street silk merchants : altogether, no 
fewer than thirty skilled workmen were 
employed in the manufacture of this cake, 
which was made within seven days of the 
receipt of the order. When completed, it 
was exhibited for two days in Edinburgh, and 
so great was the public interest taken in the 
wedding, that in this brief period upwards of 
14,000 people had inspected the big Scottish 
cake; and a special staff of policemen and 
commissionaires had to be employed to keep 
the orderly crowd moving. 

mentary gifts, I may say here, too, that these 
cards are invariably written or lithographed 
in this simple style. 







^rowia Photo, fry Whutmouiih H'efater, t'fcttier. 

The most important cake made outside 
the Palace for the * s Fife" wedding was 
provided by Messrs. Gunter, of Berkeley 
Square. It was 7ft, high, and weighed 
1501b. On the cake stood a Greek temple 
in sugar, and round it were medallions of 
satin with raised sugar monograms. This 
cake was exhibited for some time before 
the day of the marriage, and while it was 
on show it was decorated with artificial 
flowers. On the wedding-day, however, 
about twenty pounds' worth of fresh 
natural flowers covered the entire structure* 

A magnificent wedding-cake was ordered 
by His Grace the Duke of Westminster, 
from Messrs, Holland, for the wedding of 
Lady Margaret Grosvenor with Prince 
Adolphus of Teck, In accordance with the 
express wish of I^ady Margaret herself, the 
cake was similar in design to one of those 
furnished for the wedding of the Duke of 
York and Princess May, This cake was 
arranged in three tiers, and weighed 
about zewt- The lower portion of it 
differed from the Duke of York's in this 
respect: instead of bearing representations 
of ships, there were panels very delicately 
piped with sugar, with views of White 

Lodge and Eaton Hall embossed upon them, 
while beautifully modelled figures surmounted 
the pillars. On the second tier were the com- 
bined arms of the Grosvenor and Teck 
families painted on white silk shields, alter- 
nating with cornucopias filled with bouquets 
of flowers. The second tier was decorated 
with golden wheat-sheaves and artistically 
modelled stags, which were quite appropriate, 
the former being the celebrated Garb d'Or 
which the Grosvenor family obtained permis- 
sion to use in the fourteenth century ; while 
the latter form part of the arms of the Teck 
family* The flowers used in the decoration 
of this cake were white roses, heather, myrtle, 
and marguerites* 

Here is a picture of Lord Rosebery's 
wedding-cake, which was made at Chester, 
on the occasion of that statesman's wedding 
with Miss Hannah de Rothschild, on March 
20th, 1878* A civil ceremony first took place 
at the registry office in Mount Street, but the 
actual marriage ceremony was performed at 
Christ Church, Hertford Street, May fair, by 
the Rev. Prebendary Rogers, rector of St, 
Botolph's, Bishopsgate, It is interesting to 





MAROOT tkkkaKT. 

Awn a /'Atdo, by ft IT, Ifcfrfii, Ctaifer. 

note that, on this occasion, the bride was 
given away by the Prime Minister, Lord 
Beacons fie Id, 

The Home Secretary, Mr. Asquith, married 
Miss Margot Tennant, on May ioth, 1894, 
Mr. Gladstone's little favourite, Miss Dorothy 
Drew, being the principal bridesmaid on this 
occasion. Miss Tennant herself ordered the 
cake shown in this picture, and expressly 
stipulated that the design should be 
as simple as possible. This wedding-cake 
was a three- tier one, standing 4ft, fiin. in 
height, but only weighing i2olb. It 
will be seen that there is nothing very 
elaborate about this cake, the tiers being 
merely covered with a very delicate sugar 
piping, and surmounted by a Parian vase, 
supported by Cupids, and containing a 
bouquet of natural flowers, from which 
depend long trails of smilax, On the second 
tier were four shields, on which were worked 
the monograms and crests of the bride and 

I have previously mentioned instances in 
which the person ordering the bride-cake 
has provided a special design. Perhaps the 
most remarkable of these cakes is the 
one shown in the accompanying illustra- 

tion. This wedding-cake was 5ft. high, and 
weighed about 8olb. It was made for 
Rear-Admiral A. H. Markham, who served 
in the Arctic Expedition of 1875-6, and who 
was presented by the Royal Geographical 
Society with a gold watch for his services 
when in command of the Northern Division 
of sledges in that expedition. On the top 
of the drum of the cake stood a sugar model 
of H.M.S, Akrt y caught in an iceberg, 
Round the drum were many nautical 
trophies capstans, anchors, boats, and 
davits, and a loaded Arctic sledge- These 
were surrounded by oak leaves and acorns, 
and many bunches of flowers. Worked in 
the sugar round the cake were two life-buoys, 
in which the Admiral's flag and motto were 
engraved. This wedding-cake took three 
weeks to prepare, and its design was entirely 
provided by the gallant Admiral himself, who 
took infinite pins to have the modelling and 
technical details exact to a curious degree. 




*^*g^^^— "if ^ w -^-^£^^jT 


From a Photograph. 




By Charles J. Mans ford. 


ASS AN," said my companion, 
Frank Denviers, to our Arab 
guide, " what is your candid 
opinion of that curious yam 
which Kass, our chief Wadigo 
follower, told us by the camp 
fire last night?" 

The Arab, who was resting close by the 
awning of our tent, looked up from a well- 
thumbed copy of the Koran, which he had 
been reading aloud to us, then gravely 
asked : — 

" What does the sahib himself think 
of it?" 

"Well, Hassan," responded Denviers, "I 
always thought you could spin a tolerably 
tall yarn, but Kass would beat the Great 
Prophet himself/' 

" The story which Kass told is as true as 
the Koran, sahib," answered the Arab, 
closing the book and glancing reprovingly at 

" We agree with you there," assented my 
corn pan ion with such emphasis that Hassan 
quickly retorted: — 

" What a sweet well in the desert is to the 
thirsty, so is a believing listener among men ; 
the mighty Mahomet himself has so declared/' 

" Which is the reason why every follower 
of his believes that interesting and truthful 
account of the moon wandering up the right 
sleeve of the Prophet's robe and then coming 
out by the left " 

" Never mind about Mahomet and his 
wonderful adventures," I interrupted ; " so 

far as I can remember, Kass was too much 
engrossed in his story of the veiled idol of 
Kor to notice Hassan's additions to his narra- 
tive while he was telling it," 

"Kass does not know the entire story," 
responded the Arab, gravely ; " if the sahibs 
so desire, I will tell it to them." 

" Very well, Hassan," said Denviers, smiling 
at the Arab's persistence ; " go on with your 
yarn, but remember that in less than half an 
hour we must start on our day's march, 
Don't exaggerate more than you can help, 
for Kass is approaching the tent. He has 
mixed too much with Arab slavers not to 
understand every word that you say." 

A shadow fell upon the waste of sun-dried 
grass which stretched before our tent, and, 
glancing up as Denviers spoke, I saw Kass, 
the Wadigo, fronting us. In his right hand 
he held a heavy spear, the butt of which 
rested upon the ground, while in his left he 
grasped the centre-piece of a great shield 
of hide, above which rose the hafts of a 
number of splendidly-balanced assegais. In 
height Kass was fully six feet, differing 
little in this respect from the rest of our 
Wadigos, but easily distinguishable among 
them since he alone wore a peculiar gum 
wattle not much unlike that of a Zulu brave. 
Save for his loin-cloth, the body and limbs of 
Kass were bare, the only ornament which he 
wore being a string of beads about his neck. 

We obtained the services of Kass and his 
fellow Wadigos in rather a strange way. On 
completing an extended tour in Asia, under 
the g iil^|ital£fe jsifT ^^fetAlC^Hi 1 - jAlintual ly made 



our way to Calcutta, where we remained 
for some time. Denviers, my companion, 
had long projected a journey across 
Africa, and persuaded me to accompany htm. 
The natives whom we 
engaged for the ex- 
pedition on reaching 
the African coast de- 
serted us when a con- 
venient opportunity 
presented itself, and 
generously saved us the 
trouble of increased 
burdens by bolting with 
whatever they thought 
most valuable, Enter- 
ing a Wadigo village, 
we chanced to be of 
service in leading the 
natives against some 
Arab slavers infesting 
the district. In return 
for this, Kass and a 
number of his tribes- 
men volunteered to 
join our expedition ; 
the usual exchange of 
presents took place, 
and so we pressed on 
our way through the 
Dark Continent. 

In obedience to a 
gesture from Denviers, 
Kass threw himself 

down beside the Arab* whereupon the latter 
began his version of a story which resulted 
in a stranger adventure than any that we 
had previously engaged in. 

"In the fifth year of the Great Prophet's 
mission, sahibs/' began Hassan, "his daughter 
Rokaia and her husband were sent into 
Abyssinia to escape the perils which sur- 
rounded Mahomet. With them went several 
others, all of whom were well received by 
the Najashee or King T then ruling, As the 
years went by, the Moslems increased and 
became a power in the land of their voluntary 
exile, until the time came when the reigning 
Najashee sought the hand of a certain Ayesha 
the Fair, in marriage. She, as a descendant 
from the Prophet's daughter, refused the 
alliance; whereupon the enraged Najashee 
decreed that every Moslem should be driven 
from his kingdom. Despoiled of all their 
wealth, with a supply of food sufficient only 
for a few days, the miserable Moslems passed 
out by the great gates to wander aimlessly 
through desolate wastes and hostile tribes. 
At their head walked Abu, the lover of 

Ayesha, behind whom his beloved was borne 
upon a litter. 

" One night, when the condition of those 
who still survived was at its worst, a certain 
Moslem had a strange 
dream, which so im- 
pressed him that he 
rose and set off in the 
moonlight to test its 
truth* At dawn he re- 
turned, and, hastily 
rousing the rest, 
gathered them about 
him to listen to the 
substance of his dream 
and how it had been 

"What was it that 

he dreamt, Hassan ? " 

asked Denviers. " Was 

it anything to do with 

this idol we are 

waiting to hear 

about ? " 

"Patience, sahib, 
and vou shall 
hear/' our grave 
guide responded. 
" His gaunt, fam- 
ished listeners 
thought the Mos- 
lem's utterances 
K ASSt only the ravings 

of a madman, but 
he grasped his beard and affirmed by it that 
every word he had uttered was true*" 

"A most convincing testimony, Hassan," 
remarked Denviers, " Of course, everyone 
believed him immediately!" 

"Doubtless, sahib. Led by the Moslem, 
the exiles passively followed. They found 
themselves entering an excavated way which 
led through the heart of a mountain. Follow- 
ing their guide, they at last emerged from the 

rock-hewn way to see facing them " 

"The veiled idol, I suppose, Hassan?" 
said Denviers, irreverently interrupting the 
Arab's story. 

" Not so, sahib," replied our guide j "but 
something almost as strange, Hemmed in 
by mountain spurs, whose sides rose rugged 
and grand, they saw before their wondering 
eyes a vast colonnade, whose every pillar was 
carved with the grotesque heads of giant men 
and gods, and nameless beasts, which stared 
and gaped askance in stone, till awe and 
fear held each Moslem spell-bound. 

" l Pass on and fear not, Allah and the 

prop ^i^iT\ e Mkte.r herr cried 



Abu at last, and so, with many a curious 
backward glance, the exiles marched on until 
a great city appeared, and they passed 
wonderingly into its streets. No one stood 
forth to bar their way, nor to ask whence 
they came. At last some of the exiles^ bolder 
than the rest, ventured to enter a few of the 
dwellings. The shimmer of gold and the 
glitter of brilliants, set in bracelets and rings, 
caught their glances as they stooped over little 
heaps that may have been mortal dust, 
Securing these treasures, they passed out to 
rejoin the rest, one of their number grasp- 
ing in his hand a snake of brass, with many 
a mystic symbol graven upon it. 

"In the centre of the city was a great 
paved square, from which rose a temple, 
hewn so as to represent the body of a Uon 
with the head of 
a man supported 
on huge pillars, 
its forepaws 
alone rising to a 
height of twenty 
feet. Upon these 
latter also were 
varied symbols 
which none of 
the exiles could 
read. Standing 
before the great 
temple, Abu de- 
clared to his fol- 
lowers his belief 
that, at some far 
remote period, 
the inhabitants 
of this strangely 
discovered city 
had perished 
from pestilence, 
and he claimed 
the city for them 
and theirs, since 
they t true Mos- 
lems, had dis- 
covered it. 

Ayes ha was de- 
clared Queen 
of the city, and becoming the bride of 
Abu, he was raised op to share her 
throne. Although centuries have passed 
away, the city, sahibs, is still inhabited 
by Arabs, for its buildings and temple 
stand almost untouched by the finger 
of Time* Vet the pestilence which once 
came upon it is as nothing to the fate 
which has recently befallen the ctty, for 


part of its history. 


now comes the 
A few years ago^ 

m We are getting to modern times at last 
then, Hassan/' said Denviers, whose incredu- 
lous smile somewhat disconcerted the Arab. 

" As I said, sahibs," Hassan continued : 
" A few years ago a stranger visited the city, 
bringing with him his daughter, their features 
and dress plainly showing that they were of 
Egyptian origin. The stranger settled in 
Kor, as the inhabitants had named it, and 
at once devoted himself to a close study of 
the strange symbols cut within and without 
the temple. What secrets they revealed to 
him none can say, but certain it is that he 
ransacked the bazaars of the city, examining 
with infinite patience every curio displayed, 
and showing his disappointment more keenly 
month after month as his 
search proved fruitless- At 
last he felt ill, and the quest 
was left for his daughter Cai 
to c an y on. Strange to say, 
sahibs, within a few days she 
discovered and purchased 
for a few coins the identical 
brazen snake which was first 
found when the 
band of exiles 
entered the de- 
serted city so 
long before* 

u Sahibs, the 
people of Kor 
declare that the 
symbols upon it 
unlocked the 
secrets of all the 
mystic hiero- 
glyphics about 
the temple. All 
the past lore of 
ages was revealed 
to these stran- 
gers, who used 
it to attain their 
own evil ends, 
and again the city 
passed into the 
power and under the heavy yoke of the 
Egyptian. The Queen who reigned then was 
deposed, and became the handmaid of the 
Egyptian's daughter— as she is even to this 
day. Before his death, the stranger from the 
Nile raised an idol within the temple, and men 
whisper that it is the very counterpart of his 
daughter Cai, \rho holds the people fast in 

bonda ^ivfepTf^M^ ngs a vei1 ' 



whoever disobeys the Queen in aught is 
thrust into the temple, the veil parts, and at 
a glance from the idol, the victim shrieks 
and stiffens and dies ! Sahibs, by the teach- 
ings of the lore which the Egyptians alone 
discovered, the stone idol is endowed with 
life and with power to sear and destroy who- 
ever Cai wills to perish. No marks of 
violence can be seen upon those who after 
death are carried out for the awe -stricken 
Moslems to look upon. So comes it then 
that a strange fear subdues all dwelling in that 
great city, and they bend to the slightest wish 
of Cai, who rules them with a rod of iron." 

" With a snake of brass, you mean, Has- 
san," said Denviers, laughing at the Arab's 
profoundly grave countenance. " Cai has 
probably learnt something of the old magian's 
art, and is clever enough to turn her know- 
ledge to her own advantage. As to your yarn 
about a live stone idol, well, it is as true as the 
famous moon story I mentioned just now." 

"Listen yet, sahibs," Hassan continued, 
" and hear the rest. An Arab who managed 
to escape from this strange city told these 
things to a Wadigo. The latter laughed 
them to scorn, then, roused by curiosity, 
went in search of the city; he never returned 
to his tribe again. A month later two other 
Wadigos set off thither — neither was seen 
afterwards. Then the brother of Kass, 
famous alike with spear and assegai — as is 
he who rests before us — went forth to search 
out the truth of this narrative; he, too, was 
lost to his tribe from that day." 

The Arab stopped, for Kass suddenly 
sprang to his feet and shook his spear threaten- 
ingly towards where a mountain ridge was 
faintly discernible far across the scorched plain. 
Beating his shield in wrath, he cried : — 

*' Strong as the lion, stealthy as the tiger, 
subtle as the snake that whips the swishing 
grass through which he goes — such was my 
brother, yet from Kor came he not back." 

" Kass," asked Denviers, " do you know the 
way by which this city of Kor is reached ? " 

The Wadigo answered in the affirmative. 

"Well, Hassan," said my companion to 
the Arab, " when we reach the mountain spur 
we will leave you in charge of the rest of the 
Wadigos, while, with Kass as guide, Derwent 
and I will try to enter this city. You agree, 
Harold ? " he asked, turning to me. 

" By all means," I answered. 

"The sahibs will never return," the Arab 
said, despondently. 

" We shall see, Hassan," responded Den- 
viers ; " strike the tent and bid the Wadigos 
begin the march across the plain." 

It was still early morning when we set out 
to traverse the great sweep of grey, tangled 
grass which rose knee-deep about us. At 
the head of our column walked Kass, bearing 
his great shield and spear, as we advanced in 
single file. Rifle in hand, Denviers and I 
followed next, while Hassan posted himself 
rearward, to keep watch upon the Wadigos, 
who alternately carried burdens or arms for 
our defence, if attacked on the march. 

The fantastic mists that hung about the 
plain gave way to a white heat, as we steadily 
pushed on our way. About mid-day we 
halted for a brief space, then, in spite of the 
intense heat of the sun, we resumed the 
march until, some two hours afterwards, 
the mountain spur rose up tawny and pre- 
cipitous before us. Pitching our camp at a 
spot where Kass pointed out, we left Hassan 
in charge of the Wadigos, as we had decided, 
and followed Kass. For fully another hour 
we plodded on in silence, until the base of 
the mountain was reached, when we began 
to realize the full extent of the difficulties 
before us. 

East and west of where we stood ran the 
mountain, while sheer above us its top 
towered high in the air, seeming to cleave 
the sky with its jagged crest. The Wadigo 
pointed with his spear to where a ledge of 
rock high above us projected from the 
mountain side. 

" See ! " he cried, " there begins the way ; 
beyond it is the colonnade, then is Kor 

" You don't mean to say that the entrance 
to Kor is up there, Kass ? " said Denviers. 
" If it is, I am afraid your energy in leading 
us here has been thrown away. No doubt, if 
Hassan were here, he would explain how the 
exiles climbed up there, for it is more than I 
can pretend to understand." 

" The Wadigo who loses his way takes the 
next best road," responded Kass ; " the ledge 
is but a spear cast or two from here. The 
death snake will find a man even if he hide 
under a mountain ; if it seeks him not, he 
goes unhurt ! " 

" That's poor consolation for us if we get 
dashed to pieces in attempting to reach that 
ledge of rock, Kass," Denviers retorted. 

The Wadigo, after some demur, set himself 
to work and plaited a long grass coil, and 
with this substitute for a rope about our 
waists, we began the perilous ascent, leaving 
our rifles hidden in the grass. Kass went 
first, Den vf en; followed, and I was last For 

some Ufll^'5|frtPV^Hl^,fiP und the task 



easier than we had expected, then its danger- 
ous nature showed itself in real earnest. 
Slowly and painfully we climbed upwards, 
lacerating our hands and feet badly as we 
clung desperately to the slightest projections 
that presented themselves. Half-way up we 
came upon an outstretched piece of rock, and 
upon it we crouched together to rest. 

Just as we were about to continue our 
ascent, a great bird, feathered like a golden 
eagle, rose from a crag, and, circling in the 
air, swooped down upon us, striking at me 
with its power- 
ful wings and 
talons, I thrust 
at it blindly 
with my fists, 
forgetting the 
narrowness of 
the ledge we 
were huddled 
upon, lost my 
balance, and 
fell headlong 
from the sup- 
porting rock. 

i felt the jerk 
of the rope 
about my waist 
as I reached its 
limit, and clung 
to it with my 
hands as the os- 
cillations sent 
me with a dull 
thud against the 
rocky wall- 
Helplessly I 
swayed in mid- 
air, to and fro, 
as Denviers and 

Kass hauled me ' 

slowly up, a 


few inches at a 
time- Happily 

the coil bore the strain, and with a sigh 
of relief at last I found myself drawn 
safely upon the shelving rock, When I 
had sufficiently rested, we scaled the remain- 
ing space between us and the entrance of the 
rocky passage. We could make nothing out 
as we groped our way blindly along the 
excavated way, until finally we reached the 
colonnade, and stared at the uncouth figures 
carved there, almost in dismay. The wildest 
flight of Hassan's fancy would fail to describe 
what we saw as we passed into that strange 
city j wondering and almost fearing what the 
end of our adventure would be. 

We met but few people in that strange city 
— those whom we did were richly clad in 
Arab guise. No one ventured to address 
us j no surprise at our strange appearance 
could be seen upon a single countenance, 
Denviers ventured to accost a passer-by in 
Arabic, who returned no answer : he merely 
pointed to the great temple and palace, too, 
of Kor, as we afterwards found it to be, and 
then was gone, 

A strange feeling of dread came upon us, 
disguise it as we would ; then my companion, 

serious, as he 
rarely was, 
glanced at me 
gravely as he 
said : — 

"Well, Har- 
old, this is a 
queer position 
to be in. We 
had better go 
on, I suppose, 
and see how 
things turn out." 
Kass, who 
understood the 
remark, at once 
turned and 
crossed the 
great paved 
square. We 
glanced cur- 
iously at the 
carvings and 
hieroglyphics of 
the building 
£ [I which con- 

fronted us, and, 
seeing a hang- 
ing door at the 
foot of one of 
the paws of the 
monolith, Kass 
thrust it aside 
with the butt of his spear, and we entered. 

On cither side of us, between carved 
pillars which supported the roof of a great 
corridor, we saw a long line of mighty images 
of the ancient rulers of Kor, sculptured in 
red granite, the brow of each being gilded. 
By the flicker of the dim lamps which hung 
above our heads we could distinguish little 
else, for there the light of day did not enter. 
As the end of the passage was reached, a 
foreign slave, dressed almost like a priest of 
ancient Isis, glanced inquiringly at us for a 
moment, theii, vrithoui speaking, drew back 
arich| W? ^|^^iyj^-^otioned us to 




pass on. In silence we obeyed his gesture, 
and a second afterwards stood, not where the 
idol was said to be, but in that part of the 
temple which formed the Queen's palace* 

We halted abruptly. There, upon her 
throne, with a bodyguard of slaves about 
her, we saw the one before whom each Arab 
of that city bent his will like the reed to the 
gale — the mysterious Egyptian, Cai ! 


I caught my breath as we advanced and 
bent lowly before the Queen ; then, venturing 
to look up, I scanned her closely. The warm 
tint that the land of the Nile gives was upon 
her face ; feature for feature I saw that she 
was Egyptian, as her strangely lustrous eyes 
were turned searchingly upon us. Behind 
her hung a head-veil ; her garments, richly 
jewelled, were in accordance with those of 
the race from whom her descent was, and 
there, twisted about her forehead, we saw the 
bra/en snake of which Hassan had spoken ! 

Kass instinctively tightened his hold upon 
his spear, a movement which Cai, the Queen, 
was quick to under- 
stand. Stooping, she 
raised from before 
her sandalled feet 
what seemed to us, 
at first, to be a 
yellow ball of wool 
At her touch the 
object woke, and 
we saw that m her 
hand the Queen 
held out a tiger cub. 

14 See," she cried 
to Kass, " the tiger 
that has no fangs is 
harmless ! " 

"The Wadigo 
whose spear is 
broken fits another 
to his hand and 
pursues his foe to 
death," our guide 
answered, quickly^ 
as he watched the 
face of Cai grow 
dark at his reply- 
Denviers, who saw 
how badly matters 
were likely to turn 
out for us unless 
the Queen could 
be propitiated, 
motioned to Kass 
to lay down his 

shield and spear, which the Wadigo reluc- 
tantly did. 

" Ye are quick to understand," said Cai, 
with a mocking glance at Kass which brought 
a cry of resentment from his lips. Then turn- 
ing her head towards Denviers, the Queen 
asked : — 

" Why come ye here unbidden ? " 
" We are travellers who wished to see thee 
and this strange city, O Queen," he answered ; 
u for these reasons alone have we entered 

* ( A false reply," she cried, sharply; "or 
else the lore of Egypt, which it is mine alone 
to know, now fails me as never yet it has 
done. Ye know full well that I am of 
another race than those I rule, and so ye 
come here foolishly thinking to probe to its 
core the secret of the idol by which I reign 
as Queen, and which brings death to those 
who long to depose me," 

Before Den vie rs could reply, Cai motioned 
forward two of the slaves about her, and 
they, after prostrating themselves at her feet, 
stood silently awaiting her commands. The 
Queen pointed to the shield 
of Kass as it lay upon the 
ground, and indicated that 
they were to remove it 
They had barely raised it 
between them, when Kass, 
divining their purpose, 
dashed the nearest slave to 
the ground, and, snatching 
up his mighty spear, dealt 
the other a stunning blow 

Original from 

" KASS DEALT THE OTHER A STUN*)^ >£jW^^fCHlfk^i| i^l'.lf&aJiJwG." 



which sent him reeling. Denviers and I glanced 
anxiously at the Queen, having little doubt 
but that she would use this most unlucky 
incident as an excuse for slaying Kass, and 
doubtless us also, when we attempted to save 
him. We were mistaken, however. Waving 
back, with an imperious gesture, the slaves who 
were about to assist their discomfited fellows, 
the Queen asked Kass, abruptly : — 

" Are all the men of thy race as stout of 
heart and limb as thou art ? " 

" Four of them already have entered this 
city, and each has died at thy relentless 
hands ; surely thou hast seen how a Wadigo 
can meet death ! " he replied. 

" Bravely answered, slave," cried Cai ; 
" but of the four none have faced the fear 
of the living idol and come scatheless through 
the ordeal. Yet greatly it has pleased me 
to see how hardly the two slaves fared who 
raised thy shield and whom thou cast down 
like straws. How do those of thy race name 

" He is of the Wadigo tribe," interrupted 
Denviers; "and is called Kass, which in 
their tongue, O Queen, means He-of-the- 
Strong-Heart He has acted as our guide 
here into thy presence. Doing no hurt to 
thee, surely he and we should be suffered to 
return from this city unharmed when we have 
seen its wonders." 

" Ye know not the full meaning of your 
words," the Queen answered, " nor under- 
stand the craft of the people whom I rule. 
Were strangers suffered to live in this city, 
my throne would not be safe for a single 
hour. If ye were permitted to depart, one 
day a foreign host would come led by ye and 
despoil me of what empire I possess. Un- 
invited yb came into the city, spies for aught 
I know, and, so surely as ye stand before me, 
death by the idol shall be yours." 

" Why should we die ? " I asked, im- 
petuously. " If we have committed a crime, 
say, O Queen, what we have done ! " 

" Ye have entered the hidden city ; thferein 
lies your folly for which death shall surely 
come upon ye," Cai calmly responded, in a 
tone that convinced us of her full intention 
to carry out the threat. " To-morrow, in the 
temple before the idol, my handmaid, whom 
I have doomed to a like fate, shall perish in 
your sight. Long have I striven to spare 
her, since she was deposed to make way 
for my rule. The sun has not set twice 
since another plot of these crafty Arabs 
was made known to me by the lore 
which I alone can understand. But of 
these things there shall be an end at 

last, for though she were of my own kindred, 
yet should she cease to live. After her ye 
three shall perish ; yet I would that this slave 
whom ye call Kass might live to command 
my own. Come nearer, slave, and answer. 
Wilt thou serve me with thy spear ? " 

To our consternation, as the Queen glanced 
into the Wadigo's face, Kass bent lowly 
before her and gave the reply she desired. 
Stretching forth her hand, Cai touched him 
and ordered him to take up his spear and 
shield. Denviers attempted to resume the 
conversation which had turned so disastrously 
against us — but in vain. Not another word 
would the Queen hear in our defence, where- 
upon we refused to follow her slaves when 
bidden to do so. At once they threw 
themselves upon us and, in spite of our 
struggles, we were dragged away, each in 
a different direction, Kass making no effort 
either to intercede for us or to keep off 
our captors. 

We saw no more of each other till morn- 
ing, when we were conducted unbound 
into the temple. A low, weird chant struck 
upon my ears as I was led forward. 
Denviers was already in the temple when 
I was taken there, and so placed apart from 
where I stood that we could not communicate 
with each other, save by glances. It was im- 
possible to pierce the gloom far, which 
enshrouded much of the temple, for the only 
light that it received came from a brazier, the 
embers in which threw a flickering gleam be- 
fore a sombre curtain. About us on every 
side thronged the slaves of the. dreaded 
Cai, while, apart from the rest, and near 
to the glowing brazier, knelt Kass, whose 
shadow fell strangely and gigantically upon 
the temple floor. He resolutely avoided 
the reproachful glances which Denviers 
and I darted at him, convinced as we 
were that by his treachery the Wadigo had 
saved his life. 

A strange hush fell upon all as there came 
into the temple, clad in a simple robe, the 
maiden whom the insatiate Egyptian, Cai, 
had doomed to be first to meet the fate of 
death. From out the gloom she slowly 
emerged, and, as she approached near to the 
light which the embers of the brazier gave, I 
saw her face, framed with a wealth of dis- 
hevelled hair, grow ashy grey as unutterable 
despair came upon her. 

The great curtain before us parted, and 
there, raised up before us, the dreaded idol, 
the very counterpart of Cai, the Queen, met 
our view, an sdll 2tiid rigid it stood. I 
struggled desperately to cast off the slaves 



who held me, as I looked in awe upon the 
idol and saw its face become animate with 
lift;, while its eyes searched out and drew its 
victim unresistingly forward untii she reached 
the brazier. A half-choked cry came from 
the maiden's lips as her whole form stiffened 
with the horror of mortal fear, even as 
Hassan had said and we had refused to 
believe. Almost paralyzed with unaccount- 
able dread, I watched the idol as it slowly 
raised one arm and beckoned its victim to 
approach yet nearer ! 



Suddenly through the temple another cry 
rang out — Kass had started to his feet and 
thrust his spear with all his force at the idol ! 
Casting off the terrified slaves who held us, 
we ran forward. No idol of stone with 
mystic powers lay there, but, in its stead, the 
inanimate form of Cai, the Queen, whom 
the Wadigo's spear-thrust had slain ! 

When the slaves of Cai learnt how even 
they had been deluded by the craft of the 
Egyptian, they broke forth from the temple, 
bearing the body of the Queen with them 
that the Arabs miyht see her 
reign was ended. Taking 
from the brazier a flaring, 
half-burnt ember, the faithful 
Kass, whose stratagem had 
saved us, held it up as we 
slowly examined the various 
idols of the temple of Kor. 
Strangely enough, we found 
in one part of it an idol so 
wonderfully fashioned to re- 
present Cai, that we easily 
understood how, by an inter- 
change with it, the Queen 
had mystified and slain by 
fear whom she would. 

We left the City of Kor 
on the following day, after 
bidding farewell to its restored 
and rightful Queen. Passing 
once more under the strange 
colonnade, we proceeded by 
a way which led to the base 
of the mountain, instead of 
the one by which we had 
entered the city, being guided 
by one of the men of Kor, 
When we reached the camp, 
Hassan, who came out to 
meet us, asked : — 

" Did the sahibs not find 
out that the Arab's words 
were true ? " 

11 Let that answer your 
question, Hassan," replied 
Denviers ; and he held out a 
curious present which had been 
given us on leaving Kor. It 
was the brazen snake of Cai 1 

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Gleams from the Dark Continent. 

By Charles J. Mansford. 


ONOL'KS of silvery water ran 
in and Lipped the rock-strewn 
beach of an island on which 
we were encamped some weeks 
after our adventure at the 
strange City of Kor. In order 
to rest our Wadigo followers after a dreary 
march, we had constructed some boats of 
bark, and crossed the lake with the intention 
of remaining several days upon the thickly- 
wooded island. 

On the second night after our arrival it 
fell to the turn of Kass to keep watch, and, 
wishing to consult him on some matter, I 
joined the Wadigo. For some time afterwards 
we stood together, silently looking across the 
great sweep of waters, studded as they were 
with massy scarlet and white flowers, which 
raised their cup-like blossoms above the 
rippling surface of the lake* Suddenly Kass, 

prow cleaving the waters, while the paddles 
were swiftly plied. Watching it closely in 
the light of the moon and yellow lantern 
stars, we saw that its sole occupant was a 

"What can she be out upon the lake alone 
for at night?" I asked Kass, glancing into 
the Wadigo's face. 

He returned no answer to my question, 
for, at that moment, the woman's keen eyes 
caught sight of us as we stood watching her. 
Then, to our surprise, she rose in the canoe 
and seemed to beckon us. Again she grasped 
the paddles, and, uttering a cry of entreaty, 
she turned her frail vessel towards a narrow 
inlet, after entering which she leapt upon the 
low, rocky bank, and immediately afterwards 
flung herself prostrate before us. 

Kass gently raised her, and while I looked 
curiously at the woman, he endeavoured to 
learn from her why she had so strangely 


whose peculiar dialect had become familiar, 
laid his hand upon my shoulder and pointed 
warningly to a dark speck upon the water 

t£ See ! " he whispered ; " there ; some- 
thing moves upon the lake." 

Nearer and nearer the object came, until at 
last we knew it to be a canoe, as we saw the 

vd. * -ia 

sought us out. From the many rows of 
shells which covered the garment of goat-skin 
she wore, as well as from a bracelet of teeth 
adorning her right arm, I judged that the 
woman belonged to a tribe which Kass had 
recently described to us. Her features, how- 
ever, were ©tfqfflaf different mould, for in 




spite of the two huge tiger's teeth which dis- 
figured her ears, the woman seemed to re- 
present a rather refined tribe of Africans. Her 
half-clothed, and somewhat slender, form was 
surmounted by a fine, shapely head, while her 
skin was olive in hue, rendering prominent the 
intense black colour of her thick, clustering 
hair. I noticed, too, that Kass, after address- 
ing her in the Wadigo dialect, quickly changed 
it for another of which I knew nothing. After 
a few minutes had elapsed the Wadigo turned 
to me and asked : — 

" Would the White Chiefs care to go on a 
journey to save a man's life ? " 

11 Where do you want us to go, and when ?" 
I said, answering his question with another. 

" Where, I know not," he replied ; " yet if 
the moon departs before ye reach the place, 
then shall ye be too late." 

"Then I can promise nothing, Kass," I 
answered ; " but come, I will wake the other 
White Chief, and then you must explain 
what it is that this woman seeks." 

We moved away together to where the 
rude huts which our Wadigo followers had 
constructed were situated, and hastily rousing 
Denviers and Hassan, our Arab, we held a 
hurried consultation. From what Kass said, 
every minute was of importance, since we 
had some distance to cover if we agreed to 
make the adventure. We could get no clear 
idea from the woman's words as to what was 
required of us. She had somehow heard 
that we were encamped upon the island, and, 
having a very exaggerated opinion of white 
men and their prowess, she wildly besought 
us to launch a canoe and make for a spot 
she would point out. 

" Rather a queer request to make, cer- 
tainly," commented Denviers to me, aside. 
" This woman evidently supposes that because 
we are white, instead of black, we have 
charmed lives." 

" Kass tells me that her name is Mwicha. 
She declares that our Snakes are good," I 
replied, with a smile ; " meaning, I suppose, 
that we are kindly protected by Fate from 
assegai thrusts. Shall we go ? " 

" We may as well," he answered. IC If a 
chance occurs on the way, we must try to 
learn from the woman what the object of our 
journey is to be, and, above all, we had 
better take our rifles with us." 

Leaving Hassan in charge of the camp, as 
we usually did, we quickly launched one of 
our bark canoes. The Arab watched our 
craft depart, little knowing under what 
circumstances we should see our faithful 
guide again. The woman sat in the stern, 

Kass in the prow of the canoe, while Denviers 
and I used the flat paddles with a will. 

Crossing the lake, we kept in the shadow 
of the trees which fringed the mainland, and 
so, for an hour or more, our frail canoe was 
thrust rapidly forward. Suddenly the silence 
of the night was broken by a great sound, the 
like of which, previous to that hour, we had 
not heard during our expedition across the 
Dark Continent. Mwicha, the native woman, 
bent forward and grasped my hands ; under- 
standing her movement, I ceased paddling, 
Denviers at once following my example. I 
heard the ripple of the water against the 
prow of the canoe as the latter went on some 
yards without being propelled, then again all 
was silent, till once more the place resounded 
with the noise which we had heard before. 

Taking a paddle from Denviers's hand, 
Kass pressed the blade upon the bank, and 
then the four of us landed when the canoe 
lay alongside. Noiselessly we advanced, 
breast deep in reeds and rank herbage, till 
we saw before us a clear space, beyond which 
the trees rose once more. 

" Down, Harold, down ! " whispered Den- 
viers to me, hastily. " Look ! " 

We stooped at once and became motion- 
less, then, glancing ahead, we saw whence the 
noise had come, and its cause. Down at the 
water's edge we saw a lioness and a whelp, 
while standing as guard over them was the 
male, his head being turned towards us as he 
grandly woke the echoes of the wilds about 
him. With the instinct of hunters, we raised 
our rifles. In a moment the woman, Mwicha, 
grasped mine by the barrel with one hand as 
she raised the other warningly and pointed 
towards the stem of a huge tree opposite, 
muttering something unintelligible into my 
ear as she did so. 

" Wait and watch," so Kass explained her 
words. " We are in time at the Place of the 
Lions. Perhaps the lion may slay instead ; 
who knows ? " 

Something moved from behind the tree 
which faced us, whereupon the lioness, quick 
to take alarm, seized the whelp in her mouth* 
and dashed into cover, springing almost upon 
us as she went past The male turned his 
head and faced the spot where a slight 
rustling had occurred — then, armed with a 
great shield of hide and a single assegai, 
there came forth a man who deliberately 
faced the angry beast. 

A strange, weird-looking being he was at 
whom we glanced. His hair, which was 
almost white, ovring probably to his extreme 



order ; while surmounting it he wore a 
curious head-dress. The latter, like the 
apron which fell from his loins, was made of 
jackal skins, while fastened upon it were 
numerous beads and curious charms, 
Although his back was bent and his black 
skin was shrivelled upon his long, attenuated 
limbs, he turned a fierce and malignant glance 
upon the infuriated animal, which showed 
that he, at least, did not fear the result of the 
approaching combat, 

"Nyoko, the great King's wizard!" the 
woman muttered. *' First the lion then the 
man will he slay, that the King may live ! 
Would that blunt were his assegai and blind 
his eyes, that his naked feet might slip in his 
own life-stream, and the moon light up the 
lion feasting on his quivering flesh ! " 

( *A very amiable wish, certainly," com- 
mented Denviers to me, as Kass explained" 
its meaning ;" to me it looks remarkably as 
if Nyoko, the distorted savage opposite, has 
the chance of a speedy release from life, 
unless when he seems to be getting the worst 
of it we can shoot the lion* Look ! " He 
stopped ; for the strange combat between 
man and brute had begun. 

With one tremendous spring the lion was 
upon him ; but Nyoko, the wizard, agilely 
slipped aside, quickly turning to face his 
foe in an instant With his shield held so 
that it almost covered his body, the wizard 
peered over the top of it, holding his assegai 
ready. At him the lion 
sprang again, and a 
second time the wizards 
skill stood him good 

* 71.11 

w,»tt itftfy^to 

service in his need. Then, as the brute went 
by, Nyoko thrust hard at it with his assegai, 
but missed his mark. Retreating quickly 
a few yards, he waited for the attack once 
more. I almost betrayed our presence as 
I gave a sharp, though low, cry at what 
followed, for so far as we then knew, the 
natives were possibly watching the contest 
concealed by the trees before us, although, 
as we afterwards discovered, it was not so* 
Bounding through the air, the lion struck the 
wizard's shield a tremendous blow witM its 
paws. Down to the earth the man went, 
covered by his shield of hide, as the mad- 
dened beast crashed heavily upon him. 
Then to our astonishment, just as we 
covered the brute with our rifles, Nyoko, 
raising his head and arm, suddenly lunged 
upward and nearly buried his assegai in 
the lion f s body, A d^ll roar of mingled 
wrath and mortal pain seemed to shake the 
ground on which we stood, then we saw the 
wizard extricate himself from beneath the 
shield on which the lifeless body of the lion 
fell, and rising, he bent over his defeated foe, 
straining with his two hands to tug out the 

We watched the wizard curiously, as he 
deftly stripped the skin from his slain enemy, 
then, throwing the trophy upon his arm, 
seized his shield and struck rapidly into the 
gloom of the forest trees before us + I turned 
hastily to Denviers and asked : — 

"Shall we follow 

Before my com- 
panion could 
reply, however, 
Mwicba,thc native 
w o m a n, w h o 
seemed to grasp 
the meaning of my 
words, motioned 
to where our canoe 
was fastened, and 
pointed there 
silently, as if our 
way must be upon 
the lake. Kass 
moved off imme- 
diately in the 
direction in- 
dicated, and know- 
ing the value of 
his guidance in 
places so un- 
known as that, we 
at once followed 
p -0 hjm. Entering the 


vor OV II [S SF1IKI 



canoe, we forced it rapidly but cautiously 
forward. After a while we found ourselves 
coasting along a swampy part of the main- 
land, which, for some distance inland, the 
waters of the lake inundated. With con- 
siderable difficulty the canoe was paddled up 
a shallow arm of the lake, until beyond the 
swamp the ground lay high as we passed on, 
with a scanty fringe of trees lining either 
bank, which broadened out farther on into 
dense forest land. 

" Stay ! " cried Mwicha, suddenly. " When 
the wizard is seen to pass we must follow 
afoot," and accordingly we waited. 

11 Kass," said Denviers to our Wadigo, who 
had changed his position in the canoe in 
order to converse with Mwicha, " why have 
we been brought here ? " 

"Soon shall ye know," the Wadigo 
answered, "for we are past the dreaded 
swamp of Swazi, and Mwicha has told me 
why she seeks our aid. Strange is the 
reason ; stranger still what ye shall see and 
hear. Listen, then ! " 

"I am not of the tribe that Swazi, King of 
the land which bears his name, has rule over, 
although in the hut of one of his chiefs of 
late have I lived," began Kass, repeating the 
words which Mwicha, the native woman, had 
used. " As many as the leaves of the forest 
are the young men of Swazi, whose spears 
and assegais are early washed in the blood of 
their foes. So feared are they, that the tribes 
dwelling about the lake to meet them in 
battle dare not, for their strength bends and 
breaks when Swazi shields crash against 
theirs, as they follow the chiefs who lead them 
on. So it comes about that, in fear, many 
tribes have owned Swazi's rule, and sent great 
presents to him that he may let them live, nor 
blot them out, as often they fear he will do. 

"Among the tribes whom Swazi once 
reduced was that of the Wanas, which held 
out longest against him, but their King being 
slain, at last they yielded, and Swazi named 
Chika, a young chief, as their headsman 
under him. Much as the latter wished to 
shake off Swazi's yoke he could not, for the 
Wanas became like children ; they ceased to 
point their assegais, nor longer slew the great 
forast beasts that their skins might become 
hard and tough for the making of shields 
of hide. So Swazi, who knew these 
things, was glad, and as the men of this 
conquered tribe beoame many, some of 
them he took as slaves and others he sold to 
the Arabs, who, as ye know, ever deal in 
such wares. Heavier and heavier, harder 

and harder to bear, became the tribute paid 
to Swazi, who at last sent a chief, saying that 
Chika was disloyal, and calling upon the tribe 
to slay him. He demanded, too, that every 
head of cattle within the land where the 
Wanas dwelt should be driven into his, 
Swazi's, country, that he might share them 
among his own people. 

" Chika, the chief of the Wanas, listened 
in silence to the demand for his death and 
the spoliation of his tribe, till the chief who 
brought the hard request had concluded it 

" * Go now,' he said ; * tell Swazi, your 
great King, that in three days he shall be 

" ' Swazi will not wait ; he needs at once 
the Wanas' answer/ cried the other. 

" c May I not live even three days ? ' asked 
Chika. ' Leave me, lest I have thee speared ! 
My message to Swazi has been spoken.' 

"Then the chief returned to Swazi. 
While gathering the men and women of the 
Wana tribe about him upon the plain where 
now is the great swamp, but which then was 
dry, Chika stood before them, spear in hand, 
and told of Swazi's demand. 

" ' Ye Wana slaves,' he cried, ' how long 
will ye be bought and sold like dull herds of 
cattle, without resisting Swazi's demands ? 
Whose hut has not lost one that he has asked 
for, and ye have given ? Day after day ye 
work the ground, ye, who should leave such 
toil to women, and fit spear and assegai to 
your hands. Yet once, by Swazi's tribe, was 
feared the bare name of Wanas, whom then 
great chiefs led on. So low are ye sunk that 
Swazi asks for your cattle — he thinks they 
will sell to traders for more than ye do. Still, 
he remembers that once ye were men ; and 
fearing again ye may be, he seeks to slay me, 
lest turning at last upon the oppressor with 
me, ye blot out each one of his tribe.' 

" Then Chika, holding out to those about 
him the heavy spear he gripped, continued : — 

"'Spear me, spear me, ye Wanas, that, 
unlike ye, I may die as a man should ! ' 

"No one took the proffered spear, and 
Chika, glancing at them, saw that they were 
slowly kindling with the fire of his words and 

"'Worse things yet shall come upon ye 
than ye suffer now like cattle ! ' he went on ; 
' for when the tribes about shall want a word 
to mean a great coward, they shall call the 
one they taunt a Wana, and tell how Swazi 
blotted ye out. Are ye so afraid, ye who are 
the sons of chiefs ? Chika, the one left to 
ye by your King, who fell in battle, asks will 
ye slay or be sl&in? If your tongues are 





heavy with fear and ye cannot lift them to 
answer, let your women speak and say, which 
shall it be?' 

" * We will slay ! ' the Wanas cried, hoarsely, 
as they wildly flung up their hands in assent 
to Chika's words. 

"*Then back to your huts/ the chief 
cried : - night and day shall ye work to make 
shields and assegais as best ye can, for in 
three days the men of Swazi shall know 
that the Wanas, smitten too sorely, have 
turned at last I ' 

"Throughout the tribe that night the 
making and fitting of weapons went on. 
When day dawned, the Wanas slew their 
cattle, drying the steaming hides quickly in 
the sun, to turn them into shields. At last 
Swazi , receiving not the cattle nor the dead 
body of Chika, sent a band of braves into 
the Wanas' territory. Of these but one 
returned to his tribesmen to tell them how 
the Wanas had risen and slain those who 
had gone there with him against them, 

"Then Swazi sharpened his spears and 
assegais, and led his remaining warriors, who 
were as many as are the ants of a hill, against 
the revolted tribe. 

''All that day, shield to shield, hand to 
hand, spear splintering spear, they fought — 
yea, they slew and were slain in turn, till 
the grey grass grew scarlet, and the earth 

could not sop up the pools 
upon it, which were as red as 
the waters of the lake are each 
day when the sun is lost and 
night comes on. Ah ! Chika* 
the brave chief, was slain, and 
his great men also ; yet the 
Wanas fought grimly 
on ; yea, here and 
there a woman seized 
spear or assegai, as 
fitted her hand, and 
thrust at the swarm- 
ing foes* On came 
Swazi's men, still on, 
till not one man of 
the Wanas was living 
— and then Swazi 
won ! Next the great 
King bade his braves 
finish their work, and 
women and children, 
too, were blotted out. 
Left for dead among a 
heap of slain, I "—for 
Kass still narrated the 
woman's story as if 
she told it — "yea, I 
crawled out and looked sadly upon the 
great plain. Even then the foul beasts 
that prowl were gorging upon those of my 
hut and tribe, who were too blind to see 
the wound which a Swazi spear had given 
me — for of all, I alone lived ! Then into 
a hut I crept to wait the day, knowing not 
where to go, for the tribes about would not 
receive me, lest Swazi slew them because 
of it. 

"The sun was up; I rose, struck into the 
forest, and there was seized by a body of 
braves sent by Swazi to burn the huts of the 

" *\Vhy does a Wana still live ?' cried one, 
and lifting his spear, he thrust it down at me 
as others held me fast. The point had 
touched me, when a young chief of Swazi 
thrust upward the descending spear, exclaim- 

" ' Spear her not As I am Swazi's favourite 
chief, the woman is fair ! * 

"His words were listened to, and when 
the braves returned to Swazi's territory, the 
young chief sought in turn that his deeds in 
battle should be rewarded by the great King. 
Asked what he wished, he begged a hut for 
me, and that 1 should become one of the 
tribe. Gladly I agreed, but Swazi, the King, 
at first would not. Yet were the words of 
the young chief smooth, tfnd because of the 




many he had slain, Svvazi heard him and 

" Not long after this, Swazi went forth to 
spear lions in the land where now is the 
swamp and once the Wanas dwelt. At night 
ho lay down to rest where the battle had 
been, of which ye have heard. Strange 
things saw he^ and in dread, he called upon 
Nyoko, the wizard, to explain what they 
might mean, Nyoko, who had much power 
over Swazi and desired more, soon stood 
before the great King. 

* ; i Say on, great Swazi/ he cried ; ( first 
must thy slave hear what thou didst see, 
that he may toll what thou shalt see.' Then 
did Swazi speak strange words : — 

" *Nyoko, Ruler of the Rains and Maker 
of Charms to thy King, listen : It was night ; 
the moon was up ; among the reeds swashed 
the waters of the lake ; beasts that love not 

when suddenly a woman lifted a spear and 
thrust at nio + I felt no wound, yet strange 
it was, for in that hour I seemed to grow 
old ; my arm failed ; down dropped both 
S|>ear and shield My warriors who saw 
this ceased to fight, and lo ! the Wanas, 
even they conquered my Swazi host, They 
smote them with assegais ; thrust them 
through with spears ; dragged them down 
with their hands as the wind flings down 
great trees. Then the waters of the lake 
came up and covered the land, so that I was 
forced for life to retreat* I made my way 
from the battle and sought for a place to die in, 
when, know that I stumbled. Looking down, 
I saw one of my braves* I bent and turned 
his body over to count the wounds upon his 
breast, and to see if I knew his face. He 
was not dead, for, lo ! he rose and faced nie I 
Then I asked why he lived when his tribe 


day prowled ; no wind shook the leaves ; 
tired, I slept. Suddenly a sound woke me, 
a sound ewr sweet to the ears of Swazi — the 
crash of shields and the whirring of assegais. 
Listening, I heard the cries of braves speared 
to death ; the shouts of men trampling down 
men ; the screams of some thrust into the lake 
and drowning* Quickly I rose, seized shield 
and spear and hastened to battle* There 
I saw the Wanas in thousands, fighting against 
my own braves. Into the thick of the struggle 
I went and fought all through that night : 
Wana spears splintered against my shield 
in vain. At last my warriors seemed to win, 

had been beaten in battle, and ho answered 
me strangely. 

" * " Not dead are the men of Svvazi," he 
cried ; "surely they live to do thy will to the 
last, great King ! "—and he pointed to where 
lay those who had gone with me to spear the 
wild beasts. Again I touched a Svvazi brave ; 
he also rose, and wondered why I awoke him* 
Hear mo, Nyoko, to whom many things are 
known* I fought not in a dream, I say, for 
my eyes saw Wana and Swazi braves contend- 
ing, and truly did I lead on my own men. 
Yet long ago it is since we blotted out the 
Wanas; w'^dflliy&OTte'lIi saw then alive that 




strange night ? Say, Wizard of Swazi, what 
can this mean ? ' 

"Now, Nyoko, the wizard, glanced at 
Swazi's shield and spear, and saw that they 
were bloodless. One enemy he had who 
laughed at his spells and charms, the young 
chief Alii, who had taken me to his hut. So 
Nyoko planned to deceive the King, and at 
the same time to bring trouble upon his 

*' * A great and a hard task is it to find out 
the meaning of what thou didst see, great 
Swazi,' he answered : ' yet in three days will 
Nyoko, thy slave, discover its meaning ! ' 

"So back to rule his tribe went Swazi, 
while Nyoko plucked simples and took 
strange charms ,by which to learn what the 
great King would know. These he cast into 
a fire, and after watching the strange shapes 
which the smoke took, he went to Swazi and 
said : — 

"'Know, great Swazi, what thou wishest 
clear, is so. When the Wanas were slain, did 
all die ? Not so ; for a woman of the tribe 
has been permitted to dwell among us. She 
it was who appeared to thrust a spear at thee 
that dreadful night, when dead braves woke 
to fight in battle again. A spell is upon thee, 
great King, and thou shalt grow old even in 
a year unless it be removed. No Wana 
woman could bring this about ; but she has 
taught one of thy chiefs to do evil to thee, 
for perhaps he longs to rule the tribe when 
thou art gone. Say, great Swazi, who can 
this chief be ? ' 

"Swazi understood, yet because he knew 
that Alii had killed many of his foes, he 
would not listen to Nyoko's counsel to slay 
him. Then it happened that a great storm 
swept the lake, so that its waters broke the 
banks and made the swamp which is even 
now before us. Again went Nyoko to the 
King, pretending that Alli's spell had caused 

" * Lo ! ' he cried, ' what I saw in the 
smoke was true, for the swamp which came 
about thee, Swazi, one night, is now real. 
Where thou didst see the warriors fight, have 
the waters come. Are Nyoko's words wrong, 
then ? Do not the men of the Swazi tribe 
say to each other, that every day their King 
becomes more bent ? Hear me before it is 
too late, and let Nyoko cast the spell from 

"Swazi was startled when he heard that 
the men of his tribe thought him old, for 
among them the elders are slain, that none 
may have to hunt to get them food — even so 
die their Kings. So Swazi bade the wizard 

Vol. x.-17 

say how he could avoid death, which none 
save Nyoko had done through the whole 
Swazi tribe. 

" ' Great Swazi, hear me,' answered Nyoko. 
* He who has bewitched thee is one of thy 
four great chiefs — it may not even be Alii, 
but that I cannot tell. At the Place of the 
Lions, great beasts have been seen many 
nights. Call the Swazis together this night 
and build the test fire, as is done in our 
tribe. I, alone, will slay a lion and bring 
its skin and head as the men are wait- 
ing thy words. To each of the four 
will I give a tooth from the lion and with it 
a charm. Those who have not bewitched 
thee need not fear aught, for thrusting their 
gifts into the fire, they will smoulder away. 
He who holds this spell upon thee need fear 
alone, for the charm will betray him by its 
flare. Let thy warriors seize him and spear 
him — so wilt thou live many years and carry 
a shield to battle. Yet, if my words thou 
wilt not hear, the Swazi tribe will be blotted 
out, even as thou didst so strangely see, for 
without thee who can lead them to win 
battles and spear their foes ? ' 

"So Swazi has gathered his men about a 
fire in the forest, and they wait for Nyoko 
to carry to them the spoil of the lion and 
his charms. Whose portion think ye will 
flare save that of Alii, in whose hut I dwell ? 
Will ye not save the chief I love? Nyoko 
fears the waters of the swamp, or would have 
come the way I brought ye " 

Kass stopped suddenly. We had no time 
to think of the danger that such an enterprise 
might bring us, for the Swazi woman at that 
moment left the boat, and concealed by a 
tree from Nyoko's view, pointed out the 
wizard, even then on his way to the tribe. 

"Come!" she cried. And gripping our 
rifles we followed her as she cautiously led 
the way through the dense forest. 


Nyoko, the wizard, who little suspected 
that he was being followed by us, kept on 
his way steadily for an hour or more, when 
the rude huts of the Swazi tribe were seen to 
rise up before us. Keeping under cover, we 
advanced until we came to a clearing, where 
we saw a number of Swazi's men gathered 
about a fire, as the woman had declared. 
No sooner did Nyoko appear than the 
braves beat their spears upon their shields 
and loudly cried out the wizard's name. 
Cautiously we drew nearer still, until we 
could distinguish f the great King himself, 

wh M^smmft5fi ofthe8lowing 



wood lit up his face distinctly. Nyoko had 
evidently persuaded him that his strength was 
really failing him, for, although he was scarcely 
of middle age, the King leant heavily upon a 
spear as he glanced into the wizard's face 
when the latter approached. 

The braves drew to left and right as 
Nyoko advanced, and then we saw that four 
of them carried neither shield nor spear, 
while the rest glanced at them curiously as 
the wizard fronted the King. 

M See ! w cried Nyoko, as he held up the 
tawny hide, to which the head still adhered ; 
" great Swazi, the lion is slain ! " 

The wizard flung his trophy on the ground 
at the King's feet ; then, with the point of a 
spear, he dug out four of the lion's teeth. These 
he placed each in a small bundle of herbs, 
whereupon the King harangued the tribe, 
evidently explaining to his braves the purpose 
for which they were assembled. Kass 
explained to us his concluding words as the 
braves caught them up and cried : — 

"Yea, the innocent shall live, the guilty 
shall die ! " 

We watched the wizard as he approached 
the four unarmed braves and gave to each 
man his portion ; then, standing beside the 
King, he waited for them to come forward to 
essay the strange test. We saw the first 
approach and fling 
his share upon the 
glowing wood. A 
great wave of 
anxiety passed over 
the brave's face, as 
he waited in fear the 
result. Beyond a 
little smoke, nothing 
came from the fire, 
and those who 
favoured him at 
once raised a cry 
of satisfaction that 
he was not doomed 
to die, The second 
of the four next 
threw in his portion ; 
he, too, escaped, 
Then Alii, the third 
of the unarmed 
braves, stood out 
A great-limbed fel- 
low he seemed, as 
he approached the 
fire and, without a 
quiver of his mus- 
cljs, flung down his 
portion. Scornfully 

he glanced into the wizard's face as, in a 
second, the fire leapt up with a great flame 
of scarlet that flung its light upon the trees 
around, w 

" Seize him ! " cried Nyoko, pointing to 
the brave as he spoke: "Alii it is who has 
bewitched the King ! As ye are Swazi's men 
and braves, seize the evil one ; seize him, I 
say, and spear him ! " 

The guilt of Alii seemed to be at once 
accepted as proved by the others, for several 
of them ran forward and threw themselves 
upon the Swazi. Two of them he dashed to 
the ground with stunning blows, as they 
closed w T ith him, but he was immediately 
overpowered. Forcing his arms behind him, 
the braves held him while Nyoko himself 
advanced, poising a great spear. Raising 
it in both hands he drew the weapon back 
above his head, the captive scorning to 
appeal to the King even for his lire. 
Then, to our dismay, Mwicha, the woman 
who had led us there, dashed out from where 
we were concealed and caught from behind 
the wizard's arms before he could crunch the 
spear into the body of his enemy ! At once 


WF,A PON VA^jqiFHllf r&TO<»> 




she was dragged away, while Nyoko again 
raised his spear, when Denviers, hastily 
levelling his rifle, fired at the wizard. Nyoko 
flung upJris arms apart, then with the spear 
still gripped in one hand, he fell heavily 
forward at the feet of the brave whose death 
he had so subtly planned ! 

" Look out, we are in for it this time," 
cried Denviers to me as the Swazis turned 
and poured quickly down upon us. We 
beat them off with the butts of our rifles, 
clubbing them as they gathered about us, 
Kass doing all that he could to help us in 
that one-sided combat. 

" Why are ye here ? " asked Swazi, when 
we were overpowered and dragged before 
him. Kass gave a reply which, as we ex- 
pected, failed to appease Swazi. 

"How came ye here?" continued the 
King. Kass explained that we had entered 
his territory by way of the swamp. 

" Then by way of the swamp shall ye die ; 
so too shall the one ye came to save, since 
Nyoko is slain," he answered. At a sign 
from the King we were thrust from his 
presence, shut up in a mud hut, and closely 
guarded till day, when we were hurried 
through the forest by the way we came 
until the waters of the swamp stretched 
before us. Passing along its marshy side 
for some distance, the Swazis led us to a 
spot where several peculiarly-built boats were 
made fast to some upright stakes. The 
laigest of these had paddles for about twenty 
men ; its prow stood high out of the water, 
and this was adorned with a pair of buffalo 
horns, the skin of the slain animal hanging 
down loosely in front. Into this boat we 
were forced and held down by some of the 
braves, while the rest paddled vigorously 
forward to the middle of the swamp. 

The boat then stopped, and the Swazis 
began to lash our limbs fast together with 
thongs of hide, intending, we supposed, to 
throw us into the swamp to drown — when, 
suddenly, one of the braves raised an excited 
cry and pointed across the lake. We caught 
the sound of paddles striking the water, but 
before we could free ourselves, as we struggled 
to keep the Swazis from binding us, we heard 
the welcome voice of Hassan loudly urging 
on jju^Wadigo followers, whose bark canoes 

soon surrounded the boat in which we were 
held fast. Failing to keep them at bay, the 
Swazis flung us into the swamp and succeeded 
in getting their boat clear and away. With a 
few swift strokes of their paddles, the Swazis 
shot forward fifty yards or more ahead of the 
pursuing Wadigos. 

" Call to our men to return, Hassan," said 
Denviers, when we had been pulled into our 
faithful guide's boat; and the Arab most 
reluctantly did so. 

Once more we struck across the swamp, 
then our canoes shot across the waters of 
the lake as we made for our island retreat. 

"The sahibs have been successful, after 
all," said Hassan, in his grave way ; " they 
have saved the one in whose cause they set 
out." The Arab, as he spoke, pointed to a 
canoe close to ours, and there we saw Alii, 
the young Swazi chief, who had been flung 
into the swamp with us. 

" Why, surely that is Mwicha by his side," 
I exclaimed, as I caught sight of the woman's 
face, wondering how the one who had led us 
to the chiefs rescue came there. 

" Yes, sahib," answered Hassan ; " she 
heard that ye three were to be drowned in 
the swamp at day, and so for a second time 
she stole from the Swazi tribe and made 
for the island. Hearing how badly it fared 
with the sahibs, Hassan, the latchet of their 
shoes, manned the canoes with Wadigos, and 
waited for Jhe Swazis to attempt their evil 
deed. Allah and Mahomet prospered us — 
the rest, the sahibs know." 

" Your promptness saved our lives, Hassan," 
said Denviers, glancing into the Arab's face. 
" What shall we do with these two : Alii, the 
young chief, and Mwicha, his bride ? " 

" Let them journey with us at present, 
sahib," Hassan answered ; "for we must 
start at once, lest Swazi may make an attack 
upon us." 

We changed our clothing, sodden with 
water and slime from the great Swazi swamp, 
then, having rested for a few hours, set out 
once more. Less than a week after, we 
entered the territory "of a friendly tribe, to 
the King of which we made presents of 
cloth, and he, in return, allowed Alii and 
Mwicha to. have a hut among those of his 
own people. 

by Google 

Original from 

Illustrated Interviews. 

No. XLII.— MR. VV. G. GRACE, M.R.C.S., T.R.C.P. 

From a tkoUt. ftp) 


(Jiciuiifu, UivjhVjH 

HROUGHOUT the extent of 
the British Empire, be it north, 
south, east, or west, more this 
season, perhaps, than in any 
other, has the name of Ml 
William Gilbert Grace become 
a household word. Be it peer or peasant, all 
unite in doing homage to the hero of a 
hundred "centuries" — the man who has 
done more to further the progress of the 
grand old English game than any other man 
of this or any other time; and, although he 
reached the age of forty-seven in July last (a 
period when a cricketer is generally supposed 
to become superfluous upon the field), Mr- 
Grace is yet the man who is considered the 
most dangerous of any side, not alone by our 
English teams, but by visitors from the 
Antipodes. No matter what the ground 


may be, hard or soft, when the champion 
walks to his place at the wickets, who is to 
say when he will be again sent back to the 
pavilion ? 

And this is the position which he has 
occupied since so long ago as 1866, when, 
at the age of eighteen, he set the cricket 
world a- wondering by his innings of 224 not 
out , for England versus Surrey. From then 
until now he has stood head and shoulders 
above all other contemporary batsmen ; he 
has seen younger blood infused into the 
county teams, and go again, yet he is now 
capable of as much endurance upon the 
grassy sward as any; 

But the place he holds in first-class cricket 
may, perhaps, be shown best by a brief 
resume of his performances on the pitch. In 
1866 he \QEigipdhe head of the batting 




averages, then being, as already mentioned* 
but eighteen years of age, a feat which has 
probably been accomplished by no other 
player. In 1 868, 1869, 1870* 1871, 1872, 
1873, 1874, 1876, 1877, 1879, and 1880 he 
occupied the same position, and then, 
taking no account of his performances 
during the inter- 
vening seasons, this 
year we find him 
only deposed from 
what may be best 
described as 
the premiership 
amongst wielders 
of the willow for a 
single fortnight 
until the end of 
June, when he 
possessed an 
average of 83-50 
for twenty innings, 
while he had 
scored 1,000 runs 
before the season 
had become a 
month old. In 
1868 his best 
average was 65 
per innings, 57 in 
1869, 54 in 1870, 
78 in 1871, 57 
in 1872, 71 in 
1873, 53 in 1874, 
62 in 1876, 43 in 
1885, and 54 in 
1887. To calculate 
the number of runs 
he has scored 
during all these 
years would bean Ptan»*.Htai&ii3 
impossible task, 

yet it would be well within the mark 
if we place the number at 70,000, and 
to-day he is playing as consistent a game 
as at any period of his career. Well, indeed, 
may one of the verses of an earlier song be 
repeated : * — 

There's a name which will live for ever and aye, 

In Ihe true-born cricketer's mind 
A name which is loudly re -echoed to-uay, 

And tx>me on the wings of the wind* 
Britannia may gladly be proud of her sons, 

Since who is more famous than he, 
The stalwart compiler of thousands of runs, 

11 Leviathan' 1 W. G,?' 

From the figures which have already been 
quoted, it may be rightly judged that Mr 
Grace in reality inaugurated high and rapid 

*froin tbe "AM England Cricket and Football Journal ." 

scoring in cricket. In 1859, the highest 
average was the 30-21 of Mr. V. Walker. 
But how would these figures strike a critical 
observer of the play of to-day? And yet, 
f6ted and honoured on all sides, the 
Gloucestershire captain is as simple and 
unaffected at the present time as at the 

period when he 
was just com- 
mencing to be a 
power in first-class 

I was fortunate 
enough to meet 
him as he stepped 
off the field at 
Lord's a few weeks 
back with the 
plaudits of the 
spectators, in 
recognition of his 
innings of 125 for 
the M.C.C. against 
Kent, yet ringing 
in the air. But 
with kindliness and 
beaming from 
every line of his 
bronzed and 
bearded face, the 
champion grasped 
my hand with a 
grip which made 
me wince again, 
and acceded to my 
request for a few 
minutes' chat on 
past and present 
cricket With the 

MR. W. C. OltACE AT 22. [Mid trjn fer it &K kindly " hUH" " Of 

the west country 
tongue lingering on every sentence, he told 
me how he was born at Downend, near 
Bristol, on July iSth, 1848, and, plunging 
at once into the thread of his story, went on 
to speak of the first match he recollected 
watching, at that time a wee lad of six, seated 
upon his father's knee. 

" That was when I saw the All England 
Eleven play against Twenty-two of West 
Gloucestershire, at Bristol/' he remarked, 
11 and I remember that two or three of the 
elder players at that time wore tall hats. 
That, as I was telling you, was the first 
match I can remember seeing, but as years 
went on I believe that I was present at every 
match I possibly could eet at. And all the 

,irae (IvWo Atelf were bein? 




coached by my 
uncle, Mr, Pocock, 
into the rudiments 
of the game. 

"He was a great 
enthusiast in the 
game, you know, 
and taught us the 
correct style, and 
when I was old 
enough I used to 
play for the West 
Gloucester sh i re 
Club, of which my 
father was the 
manager. Unfor- 
tunately, however, 
we had no ground at 
Dovvnend, and had 
to play upon the 
common, about a mile away ; but 
we lads when at home used to 
pitch our wickets in the orchard* 
That was where I first got a know- 
ledge of the game, 

u The first match I played in? 
Well, that was when I was nine 
years old^ and I scored 3 not out. 
I played three more innings that 
year, I remember, and scored only 
another single. That wasn't exactly 
great, was it? Nor were my re- 
cords exactly as I wished for the 
next few years, In 18583 I played six innings 
for 4 runs; 1859, nine innings for 12 runs; 
1860, four innings for 82 ; 1861, ten innings 
for 46 ; and 1862, five innings for 53. 

" But all this time, you must re- 
member, I was still practising 
under Uncle Poeock's eye, while 
beyond cricket we boys also went 
in for the kite carriages, of which 
he was the inventor. Of course, this 
is really outside the game, but I 
may mention that we used to beat 
the carriages drawn by horses fre- 
quently, while on one occasion he 
raced and defeated the Duke of 
York's carriage on the London 
Road* That was his recreation, 
you know ■ but to get back to 
cricket again. I left school in 
1 863 , and after a very severe illness 
I was placed under the charge of a 
tutor by my father. That season 
I played nineteen innings, and hit 
up 350 runs, being not out on six 
occasions, and securing an average 
of 26, 

Digitized by L*GOg 

Pkul>. (>jr| 

" By this time, as you may 
imagine, 1 was getting pretty well 
known as a cricketer in the neigh- 
bourhood of Bristol, and had scored 
18 and 1 in the match Gentlemen 
of Gloucester v. Gentlemen of 
Devon. But it was not until '64 
that 1 accomplished my first great 
performance. I was only fifteen at 
that time, mind you, but a big boy 
for my age, and playing for the 
Gentlemen of South Wales against 
the Gentlemen of Sussex made 170 
and 56 not out, and took two wickets 
in the first innings. 
This success led to 
my being requested 
to play in the follow- 
ing year for the 
Gentlemen v, the 
Players both at 
Lords and the Oval. 
I did fairly well, but 
the first century I 
ever hit up in first- 
class cricket was 
made in i866 t 
England was play- 
ing Surrey, at the 
Oval, and* going in 
fifth for the former, 
I did not come out 
again until I had 
made 224, and then was not out. 

"Since then I have been playing con- 
tinually in first-class cricket whenever I have 
been available and eligible, although at times 

i jrii'irinf' f t\ C-r 

AIR. U. G. GRACES r.Mil Ml I;. 

j'htttcr. by] 




TH t CH K!>-|- N V IS, L « i U S I M > - M If. G l< A CK-S N * K M J- R RE5I Dl N I l . 

»iom n Pfcuto, ty ilfr. r v « /tar*. tU/lvn. 

With these figures 
you may perhaps 
think I had a 
little luck with 
the bowlers* But 
I don't think I 
had. I know I 
had to face J. C. 
Shaw, Alfred 
Shaw, Souther- 
ton, Martin 
Mclntyre, and 
Woo ton, and 
they were all 
good men. 

"Then my best 
season with the 
ball, I think, was 
in 1867, I took 
39 wickets at a 
cost of 6*21 each- 
in 1874 I secured 
129 for 12 ; 1875, 
192 for 12 ; and 
again in 1877 
the same average, 
179 for 12* My 

my duties precluded all idea of my donning highest innings, I may add, was that scored 

the flannels* In the field I used tu prefer in 1 K76 against Twenty-two of Grimsby and 

being placed at long leg, but I much prefer District for a United South of England 

point now. Eighteen stone, for that is what Eleven* When we went on the ground they 

I have weighed for a good many years past, grumbled because we had brought a weak 

is quite enough 

for me to carry 

when batting, and 

I can tell you I 

don't care for 

sprinting to the 

boundary in the 

attempt to save 

a four as much 

as I did in my 

younger days, 
" What was my 

best year with the 

bat? Well {with 

a laugh) I have 

had ^o many that 

I almost forget, 

but I think you 

may be safe in 

saying that I was 

most successful 

in 1870. In that 

season 1 had 35 

innings, scoring 

2,739 runs, and 

having an average 

f Q • tk I CMCKET t,KOLM) A I 1 Hfc 1 in -1 'vi HI, LKJWNEM*. WHBRS THH CBACR5 I'LAVKD CRICKET AS U>-\ .. 

01 75 at ine close. I" ^ >wm a j*** &* Mr. r«©wgj FiaWro m 








1. W. 0. Grace. 3. Alfie Grace (nephew). & Geo. Grace (nephew). 4 Mm. E. M. Grace. 5. Mrs. Page (niece). 6. Min Beatie Grace (daughter). 
7. £. M. Grace (brother). 8. Alfd. Pocock. 9. W. G.Grace, jnr. 10. Gerald Grace (nephew). 11. Mr*. Bernard tekterl 12. Henry Grace (brother). 
13. Mra W. G. Grace. 14. Dr. Skelton (brother-in-law). 1ft. Him Fanny Grace (sister). 16. Alfd. Grace (brother). 17. Rev. J. W. I)ann (brother-in-law). 
1& H. £. Grace (son). 19. Mrs. Skelton (aistcr). 20. Mra Hy. Grace. 21. Mm. Dann (sister). 22. Clias. B. Grace (son). 23. Mra. Alfd. Grace. 

team, but there wasn't much said after I made 
400, not out, out of 681, and was at the 
wickets until nearly four o'clock on the third 
day. But this performance was never an actual 
record, you know. A few weeks after I had 
made the runs I have just mentioned, I made 
344 for Gentlemen of M.C.C. against Kent, 
followed with 179 v. Notts, and 318 not out 
v. Yorkshire. 

11 Beyond these performances, I have three 
times scored over a hundred in each innings, 
and, with Mr. B. B. Cooper, made a record 
of 283 for the first wicket for Gentlemen of 
the South against Players of the South. 
This stood as a record until it was beaten 
by Messrs. H. T. Hewett and L. C. Palairet 
at Taunton, playing for Somersetshire v. 
Yorkshire. As to what I should call the 
best of my innings — well, you must judge 
that for yourself. 

"And now to present-day cricket Well, 
I think myself that the players who were 
known when I first came out would fairly 
hold their own now, while in many cases I 
fancy they might be better. Of course, we 
hadn't the pitches then that we have now, 
and every hit was run out. The consequence 
of this was that perhaps a batsman would 
get excited in trying to get a six, with a short 
run as the last, and the field had a better 
chance of running him out than they have at 
the present day. 
• Vol.x.-ie 

"Why, there were no boundaries at the 
time I am speaking of, and at Lord's and the 
Oval, if the ball didn't go inside the pavilion 
we had to run it out. This is what makes 
me think that it is easier to get a hundred 
now than it was then. The only remedy 
that I know for this would be to put a 
wooden fence right round the playing ground, 
say some 2ft. high. If a ball should be sent 
over, it should be a boundary, and count 
the regulation four ; if not, it should be run 

"Of course, the reason these boundaries 
were established had nothing to do with 
saving the batsmen. It was the crowd who 
had to be considered, for I have seen a 
fieldsman knock down four or five spectators 
when going after a ball. We used to go 
right in, and let everybody take care of him- 
self. As regards the question whether batting 
and bowling are improving, of course, there 
are a great many more players now than there 
were twenty and twenty-five years ago, but I 
don't think there is much difference. 

" The players, I am bound to admit, are 
stronger in bowling than the amateurs, but I 
think I can explain that An amateur does 
not appear to care for bowling so much as 
for batting. And then, again, a professional 
does not go on for so many years. You hear 
of them, as a general rule, for a few seasons, 
and then they give up the game and go into 




business. But with amateurs the case is 
very different They play solely for the love 
of the thing itself, and keep on year after 
year, and season after season. 

" Not much difference in University 
cricket ? No, I can't say that there is s 
although taken as a whole it is better now 
than it used to be. And the same may he 
said of public school cricket, although with 
the latter I should like to point out one 
thing. That is this : There is a tendency to 
keep a boy down to a certain style in his 

certain not too strict conditions, of course. 
When at the Universities the style of a young 
player has been practically formed, but it 
would be as well if the men were to practise 
bowling more than they do just now. But I 
suppose the reason why the ball is not so 
favoured as the bat is by reason of the wickets 
being much easier now than was the case 
when I first remember them. Now, almost 
every college at both Oxford and Cambridge 
has grounds of its own, and there is ample 
opportunity for them to turn out good 


From a Photo, bu Mvivinfcf <t G?, t liri»btl. 

play. He must play the * correct game/ it is 
said ; but suppose a lad has an ugly style, 
and yet is a hitter who can get runs, why 
should he not be coached up in that ? 
Instead of that, however, he is taught how to 
hold his bat by the regulation rule, and the 
result is that instead of being a fearless 
slogger he is to a great measure spoilt. 
These remarks, I may as well say, apply 
equally to the bowling as to the batting. 

11 My opinion is that, provided a lad is 
able to keep his wicket up and to get runs, 
although his style may not be a pretty 
one for a spectator to watch, he should 
be allowed to play his own game, under 

by V_^ 

game, un 

teams, I should not say that upon the 
average there is much difference between 
either 'Varsity eleven, but you must remem- 
ber that Fenners is much easier for the bats- 
men, and correspondingly more difficult for 
the bowlers, than the parks at Oxford. I 
should say that is why the Can Libs are not so 
very strong as a rule in the latter department, 
for it takes all the heart out of a man to 
send down over after over, day after day, 
without getting a wicket. As regards the 
best bowlers I have met at Cambridge, I 
might mention R. M. Powys, A. G + Steele, 
S. M. J. Woods, J, S. Jackson. 

41 But it i®iigftisKft^Wl fc" r to judge the 



l 39 

capability of a team from their display upon 
a London ground. For one thing, the bats- 
men are far from being at home under the 
altered conditions. The men are nervous, 
too, especially if it should be their first 
appearance in London. 

"And as regards the admission of additional 
counties into the championship series: this 
I do not think is exactly an improvement. 
With so many teams engaged it will be found 
impossible to play home and home matches 
with each county. The consequence of this 
may be that, perhaps, some strong counties 
will only meet some of the weaker ones ; 
and then again, matters may get so comply 
cated when the points come to be calculated 
that there will be a difficulty in really finding 
out who are the champions, 

41 Then there is another thing I am afraid 
of. That is, that cricket will be made 
too much of a business, like football— with 
the consequence that none but professionals 
will be seen playing. That, I hope, will not 
come in our times ; but there is that proba- 
bility to be faced. Should such a condition 
of affairs occur —well, betting and all other 
kindred evils will follow in its wake, and 

instead of the game being followed up for 
love, it will simply be a matter of £ s. d 

"And then there is another thing that 
militates against the well-being of a team. 
That is the behaviour of the crowd. If a 
batsman is unfortunate, there is always a 
section of the public who starts jeering as 
soon as he may come in. That takes all the 
confidence out of a man, and if he should 
be an amateur, he would not stand it for 
long. Then, again, if a fieldsman fails to 
take a difficult chance, or is slow in a return, 
the crowd set about him again. But I can 
tell you a man feels quite bad enough when 
he knows he has missed a chance of sending 
an opponent back, without having the spec- 
tators howling at him. Vou can't expect 
anyone to stand too much of this kind of 
treatment, and if things should reach a climax, 
the gentlemen always have a remedy in their 
own hands. All they will have to do will be 
to give up the county games, form clubs, and 
decide fixtures amongst themselves, 

" How do I think the alteration in the rule of 
follow-on will affect the game, you ask. That 
all depends; and as it has been afforded such 
a short trial, I prefer not to say too much upon 


From a. Pkuto. b$\ is holding up the dai 

.1., AI'I-EARFP REKOKK M-J DfcATrl. [ftf. \\-~t Bafk, CltfUr*. 




the subject; but I think it may make the game 
a little fairer for the fielding side. Say their 
opponents complete tin ir first innings, and 
then have to follow on* Well, the chances are 
all in favour of a big score being knocked up. 
The bowlers and fieldsmen are fatigued, 
while the batsmen have had an opportunity 
of resting themselves. With the margin 
enlarged to 120 runs, however, it should tend 
to make the game of a more equal character* 
for it is not often that an eleven would fall 
so far in the rear 
as that figure. 

* ( Then you 
mention the ' re- 
tired hurt ' ques- 
tion, that has 
provoked such a 
discussion since 
the pronounce- 
ment of the 
secretary of the 
M.CX. Of 
course, if a bats- 
man is hurt he 
retires, and then 
may come out 
again and finish 
his innings if an 
arrangement is 
made with the 
opposing captain, 
As for saying that 
a player might 
retire under what 
practically would 
mean false pre- 
tences for the 
sake. of his ave- 
rage, that cannot 
be taken into 
serious con- 
sideration for a 
moment. A man 
would never do 

that — that is my experience of the game ; 
and if he should do so by any chance, well, 
he wouldn't be played again, you may depend 
upon that. 

" Now, that is hardly a fair question to 

This in reply to a question of mine respect- 
ing which ground in England was the best, in 
Mr. Grace's opinion* 

" All county grounds are good; some are 
naturally slower than others, but no fault can 
be found with the manner in which they are 
kept But if you want to know which is the 
easiest ground from a batsman's point of 

Digitized by VjO< 

From a Photo, bv] 


view, I should certainly pitch upon that at 
Brighton. There is a very small boundary 
there, it is fast, and a team ought to be able 
to score a hundred a day there in advance 
of the figures they might obtain upon some 
other grounds. 

" But I think that on the whole Australian 
wickets are better, as a rule, than ours* They 
have all the climatic advantages necessary 
to make a pitch something like what we were 
getting in May and June of this year. At 

Melbourne, Ade- 
laide, and Sydney 
the grounds are 
as good as ours, 
as level as a 
billiard table, 
and much easier 
to score upon 
owing to their 
being so fast. 
But it doesn't 
follow from this 
that a player who 
has made a big 
reputation home 
here would do 
well at the Anti- 
podes. For one 
thing, the climate 
is liable to upset 
a visitor, and 
then the glare of 
the sun exercises 
a dazzling effect 
upon one, which 
you are a con- 
siderable time in 
getting used to. 

M In America 
they also have 
fairly good 
grounds ; that 
was how r I found 
it when I was 
across there, and I dare say they have 
improved matters considerably since then. 
But the cricket is only about as good as that 
of the weakest of our counties, although the 
clubs are so enthusiastic over the game, that 
negotiations have been opened for the visit of 
a couple nf our teams some time during the 
present season. But there is really no com- 
parison between English and Colonial cricket* 
Why, here, at home, we ought to beat Aus- 
tralia every time, although when you take a 
team out there, there is a certainty that it 
would not be a really representative one. The 
matters I have already mentioned would 


I Ha*ekifi» t Iiriffhi&n. 



Fnnnti J'hoiif, fry] BE\DV To RJECKWB THB is 

militate against its success, while the 
hospitality is too much for good play, 

"There is, however, one feature of the 
Australian cricket which I may perhaps 
mention* They have had a really wonderful 
succession of first-class bowlers in a short 
time. The batting, when the number of 
players is considered in proportion, is not 
nearly so good; but as they have so very few 
professionals, the amateurs are forced to 
handle the leather themselves. In the big 
matches and club fixtures, the latter more 
especially, I have found that the trundling is 
better there than in England. 

u But I have met some capital bowlers in 
the past* I should class them in two sections, 
the slows including A. Shaw, Peate, Souther- 
ton, Mr, A, (i. Steel, Watson, Mr. Buchanan; 
and the fasts— Freeman, Tarrant, Jackson, 
Hill, Willsher, Morley, J. C. Shaw, Mr, 
Tonge, and Mr Appleby. 

" I think myself that the bowling was 
quite as difficult when I came out in first- 
class cricket as at the present time ; but 
amongst the most successful of the present 
time with the leather, I should put Peel, 

Digitized by Gt 

Briggs, and Mr, C L. Townsend as 

the slows, and Mr. S, Woods, 

Mr* Kortrightj Mold, Richardson, 

and Lockwood as the fasts. 

* 4 The consideration of the various 

degrees of excellence amongst the 

bowlers takes you, as a matter of 

course, to the consideration of 

throwing. I must admit that some 

of the very fast bowlers (I need 

mention no names) are looked upon 

with suspicion j but I really do not 

think they are any worse now than 

they were in years gone by. There 

was always a certain percentage of 

suspicion, and so, I suppose, it will 

have to go on. There is one thing 

certain, and that is, you will never 

get an umpire to no-ball a suspicious 

bowler who is allowed to take part 

in present cricket. 

"The only remedy I can suggest 

would be for a dozen umpires and a 

similar number of captains of the 

best county teams to meet together. 

The names of all the bowlers who 

were suspected of throwing should 

be placed upon a slip of paper. 

Then they should be marked, as by 

ballot, whether they were considered 

to throw or not, the decision of a 

two-thirds majority to be final, and 

if a man were convicted of throwing 

he should not be allowed to bowl again. 

That is the only way in which the evil could 

be coped w T ith, in my opinion, and when a 

man knew that he might be debarred from 

further play— well, it would make him much 

more careful 

" Then another thing that is often asked 

me is, whether I think football improves a 

man for cricket. No, I do not. A man 

cannot do well at cricket unless he has 

followed the game up all his life, while I 

could mention Rugby forwards who really run 

away from fast bowlers. A cricketer, how- 

ever, should take plenty of exercise to keep 

himself fit during the winter. But people 

have much over-rated the methods I pursue. 

You read of all kinds of means, but you may 

take it from me that they are, in the majority 

of instances, untrue. 

"Last winter I was certainly out once 

or twice a week with the Clifton Foot 

Beagles, but I commenced practising 

much later this year than usual But it 

doesn't follow that even if a man is in 

training he will do equally well at all times. 

A spell of bad luck mav unsettle him, or a 
r CTrginartrort'i 


•kimt, BriyhLni, 



biting east wind may take all the suppleness 
out of his joints. A man who plays cricket, and 
cricket alone, though, is not likely to make a 
shining light Exercise is what you require. 
If you can't run you can ride, and if you 
can't ride you can walk. 

li This reminds me that I was never 
defeated over hurdles at 200yds. t while my 
favourite distance on the flat was a quarter 
of a mile. But I have been credited with 
covering rooyds. in 10 4-5sec, and clearing 
5ft. in the high jump, while I remember one 
instance in which there was an amusing 
dispute with my brother, E. M. You 
must know that he could beat me in 
a 100yds- sprint, but we both entered 
for the event and got on the mark. I 
kept one eye upon the starter and, poaching a 
couple of yards at the pistol shot, won by a 
foot. E. M. wouldn't speak to me after this 
for a time, but the coolness soon wore off 
with the dear old fellow. But I never 
possessed any style in my running. When I 
came out at sixteen I was unmercifully 
chaffed at the way I threw my legs and 
arms about, but I p ^severed, and at last, 
two years later, won the 300yds. 
strangers' race at Clifton College 

Upon turning up the records, it 
may be mentioned en passant that 
in 1869 he had gained the reputa- 
tion of being one of the fastest 
quarter-mile runners in England, 
and in 1870, when giving racing up, 
had gained over seventy cups and 
medals. In 1866 Mr. Grace secured 
eighteen ists and two znds ; 1867, 
one 1st; 1868, six ists; 1869, 
seventeen ists, nine 2nds, and one 
3rd; and in 1870, five ists, one 
2nd, and one 3rd. His best times 
were : iooyds,, upon grass, 10 
45sec t ; 150yds. (with 5yds. start), 
i5^sec. ; 200yds. hurdles, 28sec. ; 
440yds, flat race, 52 i-5sec ; long 
jump, i7>^fL ; high jump, 5ft. ; 
hop, step, and jump, 41ft.; pole 
jump, 9ft ; and throwing the cricket 
ball, 122yds. These figures will 
give an idea of what he was capable 
of at his best. 

" How should I advise a young 
beginner to start learning the game? 
That is a somewhat difficult question, 
for every player possesses a style 
more or less distinctive. But the 
great thing for a youngster to secure 
is a good coach, who will teach him 

the correct way in which to hold his bat and 
take up his position at the wickets. Perhaps 
a lad may say that the hard and fast rules 
may make him feel cramped and stiff at the 
wicket, but you may depend upon it that he 
will soon adapt himself to the various con- 
ditions. Then, in taking his place against 
the bowler, the batsman should be particular 
in seeing that he plays with a perfectly 
straight bat, while his toes should be just 
outside an imaginary line drawn from the 
leg and off stump of each wicket respectively. 
This will enable him to get well over his 
work, while he will stand leffs chance of 
being bowled off his pads. 

11 As for the position in which to stand, 
there is no hard and fast rule, but what I 
generally favour is the placing of the left leg 
about i2in, in front and at right angles to 
my other The right foot should come 
inside die crease, and as a general rule 
should not be moved. Shift your left 
foot as much as you like when batting, 
but upon the right depends the stability 
of your defence. If you are continually 
shifting it, you will get out very soon. 


40 <* M 


Fntm a PWft tyl 

univer^tTW michigaB* 

[awfriM, Brighton, 



" And now for the bat. Xo doubt you 
have observed the peculiarity of many players 
in respect of the length of the handle. Some 
have long, others again have them shorter 
I myself prefer a handle of the ordinary 
length, and hold it about half-way up. 
Then you must keep your eye upon the 
bowler until the instant when the ball leaves 
his hand, for you can generally tell by this in 
which way he intends to break. Then you 
should make the bat hit the ball, not let the 
ball hit the bat. 

" If you make up your mind to hit, 
hit hard, half measures are of no use ; 
and when you block, put just a little 
power into your strokes. You should not 
be content to stop the ball by simply 
interposing the bat, but play 
it in such a manner that 
runs may be secured. Hit 
hard, then : that is my advice 
to a young player ; but get 
well over the ball and never 
spoon it up, A hit travels 
much farther when it is kepi 
down than when sent high 
in the air; while it is but 
m Mom found that a slo^gcr, 
who skies all his hits, score.s 
many runs, 

"With regard to the vari- 
ous styles of play, it is 
difficult to advise. You see, 
each player generally has a 
different method, and a long- 
reached man will be able to 
get forward and smother a 
ball that shorter - reached 
batsmen can only play by 
getting farther back. There 
is consequently much that 
must be left to individual 
judgment, but I should most 
strongly caution a player 
against betraying a tendency 
to play across the wicket, or 
to pull balls, A leg ball that 
is a leg ball should be hit 
to leg, but young players are 
only too apt to attempt to 
pull almost every ball sent down. The 
result of this is that they fail to do much in 
the game owing to their faulty style. 

" In cutting, you should never fail to keep 
the ball down, patting it down, if I may use 
the expression, although nothing but practice 
will bring the familiarity necessary for the 
playing of the game. You should practise 
frequently and play as carefully at the nets as 

in an actual match ; while many useful hints 
may be learnt by watching the best players, 
A beginner, mind you, should not be a 
copyist, but there is more to be learnt in half 
an hours actual practice than can be taught 
in a week of theory. 

" And now we come to bowling, In this 
department too much attention cannot be 
given, although the young beginner should 
not attempt to bowl fast at first. If he 
does, possibly he will sacrifice pitch and 
straightness. Commencing, say 3 at 18 yards 
instead of 22, he should gradually work his 
way back to the longer distance, and by 
placing a mark, easily seen, upon the pitch 
at a certain distance from the wicket, he will 
soon be able to vary his length at will, and 


bowl somewhere near the spot aimed at. 
Trying to twist the ball should only come 
after a man has learnt to bowl straight To 
accomplish this the ball should be held firmly 
in the hand, with the fingers grasping it well 
over the centre and resting over the seams, 
Then in leaving go, the fingers should relax 
their grasp, imparting the twist so destructive 
to the unwary batsman. 




" But there is more to be gained by alter- 
ing your pace and length than by bowling 
dead upon the wicket time after time. 
Many batsmen will simply play maiden after 
maiden if the bowling is straight, but if you 
give them a few balls on either side of the 
wicket, it is probable that they will give a 
chance and be out. Of course, this does 
not apply to a poor batsman. He cannot 
play straight bowling for any length of time, 
and is bound to let the ball beat him 

" Which is the best bowling, fast or slow ? 
Well, that depends upon the ground. Although 
a fast bowler upon a good wicket is the easiest 
to score from, my eye is not so sure as it was 
at one time, and I think I prefer a medium- 
paced ball myself. Considering the two styles 
of bowling, however, slow is generally the 
best upon a soft wicket, and fast upon a 
hard, difficult pitch. 

" Now, in conclusion, we come to the 
fielding. It is as much by activity in this 
department that a match is won as with the 
bat, for, if catches are missed, returns muffed, 
and runs allowed to be stolen— well, the 
bowlers will be sadly handicapped. Each 
man in the field should be intent upon the 
game, and nothing else. Talking during the 
over should not be allowed. A fieldsman 
should invariably run in to a ball, and not 
wait for it to come to him, while he can never 
tell what catches he may bring off unless he 
makes the attempt. 

" One curious thing that is sometimes seen 
is that a poor field may take a catch coming 

off the bat at a tremendous pace, while he 
may miss an easy one. When making a 
catch off a swift ball, the hands should * give ' 
a few inches involuntarily, but with a slow 
the ball is apt to jump out of your grip before 
the fingers can close round it. 

" Then there is another point worth atten- 
tion. Suppose you miss a ball. The best 
do this at times, but never lose a moment in 
vain regrets, but sprint off and save the 
runs. Then in returning the ball, unless 
you have an excellent reason, never throw 
to the bowler's end. When returning 
from the long field send the ball low and 
straight. The greater the curve, the longer 
it takes to reach the wicket, and the less 
chance is there of running the batsman 
out. By the due observance of these rules, 
there is no reason, if a young player is 
possessed of a good eye and head, why he 
should not prove a successful exponent of 
our noble game. 

" There is one thing, however, in addition 
to these I have already enumerated, that has 
been discussed considerably ; that is, upon 
either a wet or drying wicket, if you are success- 
ful in the toss, should you put your opponents 
in or have first knock yourself? The latter, 
most decidedly, I should say ; for in this 
climate of ours you can never be certain of 
the weather for two days in succession. In 
fact, I may safely say that only about once 
in thirty or forty times does the experiment 
of putting your opponents in first prove 

F. W. W. 

Marlborough Heats. 

Pall Hall SW. 


Mar L~*t. *~*~zfr -^£c. 



Co f L*. * * £*+*l++Z2Z<m) w 

fiu~<^ S« 

$*~— ^^ 



Copied by] facsimile of the letter from h.r.h. the prince of wales, sent to mr. grace june i, 1895- [Midwinter. 

Note.— We are indebted 

at 22. 

& to the courtesy of Mr. G. Falconer King for permission to use the following illustrations : W. G. Grace 
, his Birthplace, his Parents, the Eleven of Grace's, and the Priict of Wales's Letter. 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor. 


By I~ T. Meade and Clifford Halifax, M.D. 

[These stone* are Written in collaboration with a medical mail of large experience. Many are founded on fact, and all are 
within the region of practical medical science. Those stories which may convey an idea of the impossible arc only a forecast of an 
early realization.] 


^HHE study of the human 
character in its many complex 
forms has always been of deep 
interest to the doctor. From 
long practice, he becomes to a 
great extent able to read his 

many patients, and some characters appear 

to him as if they were the pages of an open 

book. The hopes, fears, aims, and motives 

which influence the 

human soul are laid --^"ja 

bare before him, even 

in the moment when 

the patient imagines 

that he is only giving 

him a dry statement of 

some bodily ailment 

The physician believes 

fully in the action of 

mind on body, and can 

do little good for any 

patient until he be- 
comes acquainted with 

his dominant thought, 

and the real motive 

which influences his 


For the purpose of 

carrying on what has 

become such an absorb- 
ing study of my own 

life, I have often visited 

places not at all con- 
nected with my profes- 
sion in the hope of 

getting fresh insight into 

the complex workings 

of the human mind. 
Not long ago t having 

a day off duty, I visited 

the Old Bailey while a 

celebrated trial was going on. 

case which was engaging the 


The special 
attention of 
judge, learned counsel, and twelve intelligent 
members of the British jury was one which 
aroused my professional acumen from the first. 
The man who stood in the prisoner's dock was 
a gentleman by birth and appearance. He 
was young and good-looking— his face was of 
the keenly intelligent order— his eyes were 
frank in their expression— his mouth firm, 
vol. t -ia 

and his jaw of the bulldog order as regards 
obstinacy and tenacity of purpose. I judged 
him to be about twenty-eight years of age, 
although the anxiety incident to his cruel 
position had already slightly sprinkled the 
hair which grew round his temples with grey. 
His name was Edward Bayard — the crime 
he w T as being tried for was forgery— he was 
accused of having forged a cheque for 
^5,000, and I saw 
g ffi. = v .-<:- from the first that the 

circumstantial evidence 
against him was of the 
strongest I listened to 
his able counsel's view 
of the case, watching 
the demeanour of the 
prisoner as I did so. 
He leant the whole 
time with his arms over 
the rail of the dock, 
looking straight before 
him without a vestige 
of either shame or con- 
fusion on his fine face. 
I observed that his in- 
tellect was keenly at 
work ; that he was 
following the arguments 
of his counsel with 
intense interest I also 
noticed that once or 
twice his lips moved, 
and on one occasion, 
when a very difficult 
point was carried, there 
came the glimmer of a 
smile of satisfaction 
round his firmly-set lips. 
The counsel for the 
prosecution then stood 
up and pulled the counsel's argument for the 
defendant to pieces. The case seemed black 
against the prisoner — still he never moved 
from his one position, and stood perfectly 
calm and self-possessed. The case was not 
finished that day. I went away so deeply 
interested, that I resolved at all hazards to 
return to the Old Bailey on the following 
afternoon. I did so — the case of Edward 



in the end, the jury brought in a verdict of 
''Guilty/' and the prisoner was sentenced to 
five years' penal servitude. I watched him 
when the sentence was pronounced, and 
noticed a certain droop of his shoulders as 
he followed his gaoler out of the dock. My 
own firm conviction was that the man was 
innocent. There was nothing for me to do, 
however, in the matter- A jury of his 
countrymen had pronounced Edward Bayard 
guilty. He had been employed in the 
diplomatic service, and hitherto his career 
had been irreproachable ; it was now cut 
short. He had metaphorically stepped down, 
gone out, vanished. His old place in the 
world would know him no more. He might 
survive his sentence, and even live to be an 
old man, but 
practically, for all 
intents and pur- 
poses, his life was 

1 am not given 
to sentimentalize, 
but I felt a 
strange sensation 
of discontent 
during the re- 
mainder of that 
day ; in short, I 
almost wished 
that I had taken 
up the law in- 
stead of medi- 
cine, in order that 
the chance might 
be mine to clear 

That evening 
at my club a 
man I knew well 
began to talk 
over the case. 

" It is a queer 
story altogether," he said ; " it is well known 
that Levesen, the man who prosecuted, is in 
love with the girl to whom Bayard was 

" Indeed !" I answered. " I know nothing 
whatever of Bayard's private history. Tt 

" Until this occurred/' continued Teesdel, 
" I would have trusted Bayard, whom I have 
known for years, with untold gold — the 
evidence against him, however, has been so 
overwhelming that, of course, he had not the 
ghost of a chance of acquittal ; still, I must 
repeat, he is the last man I should ever have 
expected to do that sort of thing." 

11 1 was present at the trial," I answered, 


* £ and followed the story to a certain extent, 
but I should like to hear it now in brief, if I 

M I will present it in a nutshell," said 
Teesdel, in his brisk way. u Levesen, the 
prosecutor, is a tolerably rich man — he has a 
house in Piccadilly, where he lives with his 
sister, Levesen is guardian to a very beautiful 
girl, a ward in Chancery — her name is Lady 
Kathleen Church. She has lived with 
Levesen and his sister for the last couple of 
years. Lady Kathleen is only nineteen, and 
it was whispered a short time ago in Levesen f s 
circle of friends that he intended to make 
the fair heiress his wife. She is a very lovely 
girl, and, as she will inherit a large fortune 
when she attains her majority, is of course 

attractive in every 
way. I-ady Kath- 
leen met Bayard 
at a friend's house 
— t he young 
people fell in 
love with each 
other, and be- 
came engaged. 
Bayard was rising 
in his profession 
- — he was far from 
rich, but was 
likely to do well 
eventually. There 
was no reason- 
able objection to 
the engagement, 
and Francis 
Levesen did not 
attempt to make 
any. Levesen 
took Bayard up 
—the "two men 
were constantly 
seen together — 
the engagement 
was formally announced, although the wedding 
was not to take place until Lady Kathleen's 
majority* One fine morning it was discovered 
that Bayard's banking account was augmented 
to the tune of ^5,000, that Levesen s account 
was short of precisely that sum, that a cheque 
had been presented by Bayard at Levesen 's 
bank, with Levesen's signature, for exactly 
that sum of money. The cheque was, of 
course, a forgery. Bayard was arrested, 
prosecuted, and found guilty. His version of 
the story you have, doubtless, followed in 
court Levesen is in Parliament, and has a 
secretary ; Bayard wir> in money difficulties. 
He ^^(^p^^^feffnd declares 



that the cheque was handed to him by Mr. 
Franks, Levesen*s secretary. There is no 
evidence whatever to support this story, and 
Bayard has, as you know, now to expiate his 
crime in penal servitude, Well, I can only 
repeat that he is the last man in existence I 
should ever have expected to do that sort 
of thing." 

(( We none of us know what we may do 
until we are tried/* said a man who stood near. 

"The story is undoubtedly a strange one," 
I answered. " I have listened carefully to the 
evidence on both sides, and although the 
verdict is evidently the only one which could 
be expected under the circumstances, my 
sLrong feeling is that Bayard did not commit 
that forgery," 

11 Then how do you account for the thing ?" 

"I wish I could account for it — there is 
something hidden which we know nothing 
about I am convinced of Bayard's innocence, 
but my reason for this conviction is nothing 
more than a certain knowledge of character 
which from long experience I possess. Bayard 
is not the sort of man who, under any 
circumstances, would debase himself to the 
extent of committing a crime. The whole 
thing is repugnant to his character— in short, 
I believe him to be innocent." 


My words evidently startled Teesdel ; he 
gazed at me attentively, 

" It is queer that you, of all men, should 
make such a remark, Halifax," he said, 
(1 You must know that character goes for 
nothing in moments of strong temptation. 
It was clearly proved that Bayard wanted the 
money, Franks, the secretary, could not 
have had any possible motive for swearing to 
a lie. In short, I can't agree with you* I 
am sorry for the poor fellow, but I am afraid 
my verdict is on the side of the jury,' 1 

* 4 What about Lady Kathleen?" I asked, 
after a pause, 

" Of course the engagement is broken off 
— people say the girl is broken-hearted — she 
was devoted to Bayard; I believe Miss 
Levesen has taken her out of town." 

I said nothing further. It was more than 
a year before I heard Bayard's name men- 
tioned again. Walking down Piccadilly one 
day I ran up against Teesdel ; he stopped to 
speak to me for a minute, and as we were 
parting turned back to say : — * 

"By the way, your face reminds me of 
something— yes, now I know. The last time 
I saw you, you had just come from poor 
Bayard's trial— well, the latest news is t 
that Lady Kathleen Church is engaged to 
Franrls Leve-ien— the engagement is formally 
announced— they are to he married within a 
month — the wedding is to be one of the big 
affairs of the season-'* 

44 Poor Bayard!" was my sole exclamation. 
] parted with Teesdel after another word 
or two, and hurried off to attend to my duties, 
A week later two ladies were 
ushered into my consulting- 
room. One was elderly, with 
a thin, somewhat masculine, 
type of face, shrewd, closely 
set dark eyes, and a com- 
pressed mouth. She was 
dressed in the height of the 
reigning fashion, and wore a 
spotted veil drawn down over 
her face. Her manner was 
stiff and conventional. She 
bowed and took the chair I 
offered without speaking. 

I turned from her to glance 
at her companion — my other 
visitor was a girl — a girl who 
would have been beautiful had 
she been in health* Her figure 
was very slight and willowy — 
she had well -open brown eyes, 
and one of those high-bred 
jilfeJeirowhich one associates 




with the best order of English girl. In 
health, she probably had a bright com- 
plexion, but she was now ghastly pale — her 
face was much emaciated, and there were 
large black shadows under her eyes. Looking 
at her more closely, I came to the quick 
conclusion that the state of her bodily health 
was caused by some mental worry. The 
melancholy in her beautiful eyes was almost 
overpowering. I drew a chair forward for 
her, and she dropped into it without a 

" My name is Levesen," said the elder lady. 
" I have brought my ward, Lady Kathleen 
Church, to consult you, Dr. Halifax." 

I repeated the name under my breath — in 
a moment I knew who this girl was. She 
had been engaged to Bayard, and was now 
going to marry Francis Levesen. Was this 
the explanation of the highly nervous con- 
dition from which she was evidently 
suffering ? 

"What are Lady Kathleen's symptoms?" 
I asked, after a pause. 

" She neither eats nor sleeps — she spends 
her time irrationally — she does everything 
that girl can do to undermine her health," 
said the elder lady, in an abrupt tone — " in 
short, she is childish to the last degree, 
and so silly and nervous that the sooner a 
doctor takes her in hand, the better." 

"What do you complain of yourself?" I 
said, turning to the patient. 

e< I am sick of life," said the girl. " I am 
glad that I am ill — I don't wish to be made 

" It is all a case of nerves," said Miss 
Levesen. " Until a year ago there could not 
have been a healthier girl than Lady Kath- 
leen — she enjoyed splendid health — her spirits 
were excellent— from that date she began to 
droop. She had, I know, a slight disappoint- 
ment, but one from which any sensible girl 
would quickly have recovered. I took her 
into the country and did what I could for 
her; she. became better, and is now engaged 
to my brother, who is deeply attached to her. 
They are to be married in a month. If ever 
a girl ought to enjoy life, and the prospect 
before her, she ought" 

" Ill-health prevents one enjoying any- 
thing," I answered, in an enigmatical voice. 
44 Will you tell me something more about your 
symptoms?" I said, turning again to my 

41 1 can't sleep," she replied. " I do not 
care to eat — I am very unhappy — I take no 
interest in anything — in short, I wish to die." 

"Your manner of speaking is most reck- 

less and wrong, Kathleen," said the elder 
lady, in a tone of marked disapproval. 

44 Forgive me, but I should like to question 
Lady Kathleen without interruption," I said, 
turning to Miss Levesen. 

Her face flushed. 

" Oh, certainly," she answered. " I know 
that I ought not to speak — I sincerely hope 
that you will get to the bottom of this extra- 
ordinary state of things, Dr. Halifax, and 
induce my ward to return to common-sense." 

44 May I speak to you alone ? " suddenly 
asked the young lady, raising her eyes, and 
fixing them on my face. 

"If you wish it," I replied. "It* may be 
best, Miss Levesen, to allow me to see Lady 
Kathleen for a few moments by herself," I 
continued, in a low voice. "In a case like the 
present, the patient is always much more 
confidential when quite alone with the 

" As you please," she replied ; " only, for 
Heaven's sake, don't humour her in her fads." 

I rang the bell, and desired Harris to take 
Miss Levesen to the waiting-room. The 
moment we were alone, Lady Kathleen's 
manner completely changed ; her listlessness 
left her — she became animated, and even 

" I am glad she has gone," she said ; " I 
did not think she would. Now I will confess 
the truth to you, Dr. Halifax. I asked Miss 
Levesen to bring me to see you under the 
pretence that you might cure my bodily ail- 
ments. My real reason, however, for wishing 
to have an interview with you was something 
quite apart from anything to do with bodily 

" What do you mean ?" I asked, in astonish- 

" What I say," she answered. " I think I 
can soon explain myself. You know Mr. 
Teesdel, don't you ? " 

" Teesdel," I replied ; " he is one of my 
special friends." 

" He called at our house last week : I was 
alone with him for a moment. He saw that 
I was unhappy, that — that a great sorrow is 
killing me — he was kind and sympathetic. 
He spoke about you — I just knew your name, 
but no more. He told me something about 
you, however, which has filled my mind with 
the thought of you day and night ever since." 

" You must explain yourself" I said, when 
she paused. 

" You said, doctor "—she paused again, 
and seemed to swallow something in her 
throat — " you said that you believed in the 


J 49 


"My dear young lady, I do/" I replied, 
with emphasis* 

u God bless you for those words ; you will 
see now what a link there is between you and 
rne, for you and I in all the world are the 
only people who believe in him/ T 

1 did not reply. Lady Kathleen's eyes 
filled with tears ; she took out her handker- 
chief and wiped them hastily away, 

"You will understand at once," she con- 
tinued, " how I have longed to come and see 
you and talk with you. I felt that you could 
sympathize with me. It is true that I am ill, 
but I am only ill because my mind reacts on 
my body — I have no rest of mind day or 
night— I am in the most horrible position. 
1 am engaged to a man whom I cordially 
loathe and hate, and I love another man 
passionately, deeply, distractedly. 3 ' 

"And that man is now enduring penal 
servitude? " I interrupted, 

" Yes, yes. Did Mr. Teesdel tell you that 
I was once engaged to Edward Bayard ? " 

"He did," I answered 

"It is true," she continued; "we loved 
each other devotedly — we were as happy as 
two people could foe— then came the first 

cloud— Edward in a weak moment 
signed his name to a bill for a friend 
— -the friend failed, and Edward was 
called upon to pay the money. He 
said that he would ask my guardian, 
Francis I.evesen, to help him. He did 
so in my presence, and Francis refused 
Edward said that it did not matter, 
and was confident that he could get the 
money in some other way. Imme- 
diately afterwards came the horrible 
blow of his supposed forgery — he was 
arrested — he and I were together when 
this happened. All the sun seemed to 
go out of my sky at once — hope was 
over. Then came the trial— the verdict, 
the terrible result, But none of these 
things, Dr. Halifax, could quench my 
love. It is still there — it consumes me 
— it is killing me by inches— my heart 
is broken : that is why 1 am reallv 

" If you feel as you describe, why 
do you consent to marrying another 
man ? " I asked. 

41 No wonder you ask me that ques- 
tion. I will try and answer it, I con- 
sent because I am weak. Constant, 
ceaseless worrying and persuasion have 
worked upon my nerves to such an 
extent that, for very peace, I have said 
'yes,' Miss Levesen would like the mar- 
riage ; she is a good woman, but she is with- 
out a particle of sentiment or romance. She 
believes in Edward's guilt, and cannot under- 
stand how it is possible for me to love him 
under existing circumstances. She would 
like me to marry her brother because I have 
money arjd because my money will be of use 
to him. She honestly thinks that he will 
make me a good husband, and that after my 
marriage I shall be happy. I respect her ? 
but I shrink from him as I would from a 
snake in the grass—I don't believe in him. 
I am certain that he and his secretary, Mr. 
Franks, concocted some awful plot to ruin 
Edward Bci yard. This certainty haunts me 
unceasingly day and night I am a victim, 
however, and have no strength to resist 
the claim which Mr Levesen makes upon 
me. When Mr. Teesdel called, however, 
and told me that you believed in Edward, a 
faint glimmer of light seemed to come into 
mv wretchedness ; I resolved to come and 
see you. I told Miss Levesen that I should 
like to see a doctor, and spoke of you. She 
knew your name, and was delighted to bring 
me to you— no T ^ you know my story. Can 



"I can only urge you on no account to 
marry Mr. Levesen," I answered. 

" It is easy for you to say that, and for me 
to promise you that I will be true to my real 
lover while I am sitting in your consulting- 
room ; but when 1 return to my guardians 
house in Piccadilly I shall be a totally different 
girl, Every scrap of moral strength will have 
left me — in short, I shall only be capable of 
allowing matters to drift. They will drift on 
to my wedding-day, I shall go to church on 
that day, and endure the misery of a marriage 
ceremony between Francis I^evesen and my- 
self — and then I only sincerely trust that I 
shall not long survive the agony of such a 
union* Oh, sometimes I do not believe my 
mind will stand the strain. Dr. Halifax, is 
there anything you can do to help me ? " 

The poor girl was trembling violently— her 
lips quivered — her face wore a ghastly ex- 

41 The first thing you must do is to try and 
control yourself/' I said, 

I poured out a glass of water, and gave it 
to her. She took a sip or two, and then 
placed it on the table—her excessive emotion 
calmed down a little. 

" I will certainly do what I can to help 
you," I said, " but you must promise on your 
part to exercise self-control. Your nerves 
are in a very weak state, and you make them 
weaker by this excessive emotion. I can 
scarcely believe that you have not sufficient 
strength to resist the iniquity of being forced 
into a marriage which you abhor* You have 
doubtless come to me with some idea in your 
mind. What is it you wish me to do ? " 

" I have come with a motive," she said. 
"I know it is a daring thing to ask. You 
can help me if you will— you can make 
matters a little easier. 31 

"Pray explain yourself," I said, 

" I want you to do this, not because you 
are a doctor, but because you are a man, I 
want you to go and see Edward Bayard — he 
is working out his sentence at Hart moor* 
Please don't refuse me until I have told you 
what is exactly in my mind. I have read all 
the books I can find with regard to prisons 
and prisoners, and I know that at intervals 
prisoners are allowed to see visitors. I want 
you to try and see him, and then tell him 
about me. Tell him that my love is unalter- 
able — tell him that when I marry Mr. 
Levesen, 1 shall only have succumbed to 
circumstances, but my heart, all that is worth 
having in me, is still his, and his only — tell 
him, too, that I shall always believe in his 
innocence as long as I live." v. ■ 

"You make a strange request," I said, 
when she had finished speaking* " In the 
first place, you ask me to do something out- 
side my province — in the next, it is very 
doubtful, even if I do go to Hartmoor, that 
I shall be allowed to see the prisoner and 
deliver your message. It is true that at 
stated intervals prisoners are allowed to 
see friends from the outside world, but never 
alone — a warder has always to be present. 
Then why disturb Bayard with news of your 
marriage? Such news can only cause him 
infinite distress, and where he is now he is 
not likely to hear anything about it." 

" On the other hand, he may hear of it, 
any day or any hour. Prisoners do get news 
from the outside world, Newspapers are 
always being smuggled into prisons—I have 
read several books on the subject. Oh, yeSj 
he must get my message ; he must know that 
I am loyal to him in heart at least, or I shall 
go quite mad," 

Here the impetuous girl walked to one of 
the windows, drew aside the blind, and looked 


out. I saw that she did so to hide her 
intense emotion. 

"I can m^kc no definite promise to you," 

i ^ijfM^i^ 11 ***** 


l S l 

try if it is in my power to help you. I 
happen to know the present Governor of 
Hartmoor, and perhaps indirectly I may 
be able to communicate with Bayard." 

" You will do more than that — you will go 
to Hartmoor — yes, I am sure you will. 
Don't call this mission outside your 
province. You are a doctor. Your object 
in life is to relieve illness — to soothe and 
mitigate distress. I am ill, mentally, and 
this is the only medicine which can alleviate 
my sufferings." 

" If possible, I will accede to your request," 
I said. " I'm afraid I cannot speak more 
certainly at present." 

" Thank you ; thank you. I know that 
you will make the thing possible." 

" I can at least visit the Governor, Captain 
Standish; but remember, even if I do this, I 
may fail utterly in my object. I must not 
write to you on the subject — just rest assured 
that I will do my utmost for you." 

She gave me her hand, turned aside her 
head to hide her tears, and hurried from the 
room. I thought a good deal over her sad 
story, and although I was doubtful of being 
able to communicate her message to Bayard, 
I resolved to visit Hartmoor, and trust to 
Providence to give me the opportunity I 

Some anxious cases, however, kept me in 
town for nearly ten days, and it was not 
until a certain Saturday less than a week 
before the day appointed for the wedding 
that I was able to leave London. I went to 
Plymouth by the night mail, and arrived at 
the great, gloomy-looking prison about eleven 
o'clock on the following morning. I received 
a warm welcome from the Governor and his 
charming wife. He had breakfast ready for 
me on my arrival, and when the meal was 
over told me that he would take me round 
the prison, show me the gangs of men at 
their various works of stone-quarrying, turf- 
cutting, tren :hing, etc., and, in short, give me 
all the information about the prisoners which 
lay in his power. 

He was as good as his word, and took me 
first through the prison, and afterwards to see 
the gangs of men at work. I was much 
interested in all I saw, but had not yet an 
opportunity of saying a special word about 
Bayard. After dinner that evening Captain 
Standish suddenly asked me the object of my 

" Well," he said, " has your day satisfied 

" I have been much interested," I replied. 

V Yes, yes, but you must have had some 

special object in taking this journey — a busy 
man like you will not come so far from town, 
particularly at this time of year, without a 
motive — even granted," he added, with a 
smile, "that we are old friends." 

I looked fixedly at him for a moment, then 
I spoke. 

" 1 have come here for a special object," 
I said 

"Ah, I thought as much. Do you feel 
inclined to confide in me ? " 

" I certainly must confide in you. I have 
come to Hartmoor to see a man of the name 
of Bayard — Edward Bayard ; he was 
sentenced to five years' penal servitude about 
a year ago — I was present at the trial — I have 
brought him a message — I want, if possible, 
to deliver it." 

While I was speaking, Captain Standish s 
face wore an extraordinary expression. 

" You want to see Bayard ? " he repeated. 

" Yes." 

" And you have brought him a message 
which you think you can deliver ? " 

" Yes. Is that an impossibility ? " 

u I fear it is." 

He remained silent for a minute, thinking 
deeply — then he spoke. 

"One of the strictest of prison rules is, 
that prisoners are not allowed to be pointed 
out to visitors for identification. It is true 
that at stated times the convicts are allowed 
to see their own relations or intimate friends, 
always, of course, in the presence of a 
warder. Bayard has not had anyone to see 
him since his arrival. Are you personally 
acquainted with him ? " 

" I never spoke to him in my life." 

" Then how can you expect ? " 

I broke in abruptly. 

" The message I am charged with is in a 
certain sense one of life or death," I said ; 
" it affects the reason, perhaps the life, of an 
innocent person. Is there no possibility of 
your rule being stretched in my favour? " 

" None whatever in the ordinary sense, 
but what do you say" — here Captain Standish 
sprang to his feet — " what do you say to 
seeing Bayard in your capacity as physician?" 

" What do you mean ? " 

"Simply this. I should be glad if you 
would see him in consultation with our prison 
doctor. I know Bruce would be thankful to 
have your views of his case." 

" Then he is ill ? " I said. 

" Yes, he is ill — at the present moment the 
prisoner whom you have come to see is in a 
state of complete catalepsy — stay, I will send 
for Bruce find zsk him to tell you about him." 



Captain Standish rose and rang the bell. 
When the servant appeared he asked him to 
take a message to Dr. Bruce, begging him to 
call at the Governor's house immediately. 

"While we are waiting for Bruce," said 
Standish, " I will tell you one or two things 
about Bayard. By the way, we call him 
Number Sixty here. He came to us from 
Pentonville with a good character, which he 
has certainly maintained during the few 
months of his residence at Hartmoor. He is 
an intelligent man, and a glance is sufficient 
to show the class of society from which he 
has sprung. You know we have a system of 
marks here, and prisoners are able to shorten 
their sentences by the number of marks they 
can earn for good conduct. Bayard has had 
his full complement from the first — he has 
obeyed all the rules, and been perfectly civil 
and ready to oblige. 

"It so happened that three months 
ago a circumstance occurred which placed 
the prisoner in as comfortable a position as 
can be accorded to any convict. One morning 
there was a row in one of the yards — a con- 
vict attacked a warder in a most unmerciful 
manner — he would have killed him if Sixty 
had not interfered. Bayard is a slightly built 
fellow, and no one would give him credit for 
much muscular strength. The doctor placed 
him in the tailoring establishment when he 
came, declaring him unfit to join the gangs 
for quarrying and for outside work. Well, 
when the scuffle occurred, about which I 
am telling you, Sixty sprang upon the mad- 
man, and, in short, at personal risk, saved 
Simpkins's life. The infuriated convict, how- 
ever, did not let Bayard off scot-free; he 
gave him such a violent blow in the ribs that 
one was broken — it slightly pierced the lung, 
and, in short, he had to go to hospital, where 
he remained for nearly a fortnight. At the 
end of that time he was apparently well again, 
and we hoped that no ill-consequences would 
arise from his heroic conduct. After a con- 
sultation with Bruce, I took him from the 
tailoring and gave him book-keeping and 
the lightest and most intelligent employ- 
ment the place can afford. He has a 
perfect genius for wood-carving, and only 
this morning was employed in my house, 
directing some carpenters in putting together 
a very intricate cabinet. He is, I consider, 
an exceptional man in every way." 

" But what about these special seizures ? " 
I asked. 

"I am coming to them. Ah, here is 
Bruce. Bruce will put the facts before you 
from a medical point of view. Bruce, let 

me introduce my friend, Dr. Halifax. We 
have just been talking about your patient, 
Number Sixty. What do you say to consult- 
ing Halifax about him ? " 

" I shall be delighted," answered Bruce. 

" I think I understood you to say, Standish, 
that Bayard is ill now ? " I asked. 

" That is so* Pray describe the case, 

" Your visit is most opportune," said Dr. 
Bruce. " Sixty had a bad attack this morn- 
ing. He was employed in this very house 
directing some carpenters, when he fell in a 
state of unconsciousness to the floor. He 
was moved at once into a room adjoining the 
workshop — he is there now." 

" What are his general symptoms ? " I 

"Complete insensibility — in short, cata- 
lepsy in its worst form. His attacks began 
after the slight inflammation of the lungs 
which followed his injury. Captain Standish 
has probably told you about that." 

" I have," said Standish. 

"He may have received a greater shock 
than we had any idea of at the time of the 
accident," continued Dr. Bruce, " otherwise, 
I can't in the least account for the fact of 
catalepsy following an injury to the lungs. 
The man was in perfect health before this 
illness, since then he has had attacks of 
catalepsy once and sometimes twice in one 
week. As a rule, he recovers consciousness 
after a few hours ; but to-day his insensibility 
is more marked than usual." 

" You don't think it by any possibility a 
case of malingering?" I inquired. "One 
does hear of such things in connection with 

The prison doctor shook his head. 

" No," he said, "the malady is all too real. 
I have tested the man in every possible way. 
I have used the electric battery, and have 
even run needles into him. In short, I am 
persuaded there is no imposture. At the 
present moment he looks like death; but 
come, you shall judge for yourself." 

As Dr. Bruce spoke, he led the way to the 
door ; Captain Standish and I accompanied 
him. We walked down a stone passage, 
entered a large workshop with high guarded 
windows, and passed on to a small room 
beyond. The one window in this room was 
also high, and protected with thick bars. On 
a trundle bed in the centre lay the prisoner. 

For a moment I scarcely recognised the 
man. When I had last seen Bayard, he had 
been in ordinary gentleman's dress ; he was 
now jfip^. hide^us,;,^^ the prison- 



his hair was cut within a quarter of an inch 
of his head— his face was thin and worn, it 
looked old, years older than the face I had 
last seen above the dock of the Old Bailey, 
There were deep hollows, as if of intense 
mental suffering, under the eyes — the lips 
were firmly shut, and resembled a straight 
line. The bulldog obstinacy of the chin, 
which I had noticed in the court of the Old 
Bailey, was now more discernible than ever. 

** If ever a man could malinger, this man 
could/' I muttered to myself ; " he has both 
the necessary courage and obstinacy. But 
what could be his motive ? " 

I bent down and carefully examined the 
patient. He was lying flat on his back. 
His skin was cold — there was not a vestige 
of colour about the face or lips. Taking the 
wrist between my fingers and thumb, I felt 
for the pulse, which was very slow and barely 
perceptible— the man's whole frame felt like 
ice — there was a slight rigidity about the 

u This is a queer case," I said, aloud. 

" It is real," interrupted Bruce ; * f the man 
is absolutely unconscious.' 1 

When he spoke, I suddenly lifted one of 
the patient's eyelids, and looked into the 
eye — the pupil was contracted — -the eye was 

VoL x.^20. 



glazed and apparently unconscious. I looked 
fixedly into it for the space of several seconds 
— not by the faintest flicker did it show the 
least approach to sensibility. I pressed my 
finger on the cornea — there was not a flinch, 
I dropped the lid again, After some further 
careful examination, I stood up. 

"This catalepsy certainly seems real," I 
said — u the man is, to all appearance, abso- 
lutely unconscious. I am sorry, as I hoped 
to have persuaded you, Captain Standish, to 
allow me to have an interview with him, 
I came to Hartmoor to-day for that ex- 
press purpose, I have been intrusted 
with a message of grave importance from 
someone he used to know well in the 
outer world — I should have liked to have 
given him the message— hut in his present 
state this is, of course, impossible." 

" What treatment do you propose ? " asked 
Bruce, who showed some impatience at my 
carefully-worded speech. 

"I will talk to you about that outside," I 
answered—I was watching the patient intently 
all the time I was speaking. 

Standi sh and Bruce turned to leave the 
room, and I went with them. When I reached 
the door, however, I glanced suddenly back 
at the sick man. Was it fancy, or had he 

looked at me for a 
brief second ? I 
certainly detected 
the faintest quiver 
about the eyelids. 
Instantly the truth 
flashed through my 
brain —Bayard was 
a malingerer* He 
had feigned cata- 
lepsy so cleverly 
that he had even 
imposed upon the 
far - seeing prison 
doctor. He would 
have imposed upon 
me, but for that 
lightning quiver of 
the deathlike face + 
I had spoken on 
purpose about that 
message from the 
outside world. 
Mine was truly an 
arrow shot at a 
venture, but the 
arrow had gone 
home. When I 
left the room, I 
the man's 






secret I resolved, however, not to reveal 

Bruce consulted me over the case I gave 
some brief suggestions, and advised the prison 
doctor not to leave the man alone, but to see 
that a warder sat up with him during the night 
Standi sh and 1 then returned to the drawing- 
room. We spent a pleasant evening together, 
and it was past one o'clock when we both 
retired to rest As we were going to our 
rooms, a sudden idea flashed through my 

"Have you any objection," I said, turning 
suddenly to Standish, " to my seeing Number 
Sixty again ? w 

* 4 Of course not, Halifax ; it is good of you 
to be so interested in the poor chap. I will 
ask Bruce to take you to his room to-morrow 
morning/ 7 

u I want to see him now," I said. 


" Yes, now, if you will allow me." 

"Certainly, if you really wish it— I don't 
suppose there is the least change, however, 
and the man is receiving every care — a 
warder is sitting up with him." 

" I should like to see him now," I repeated. 

il All right/ 1 answered Standish, 

We turned and went downstairs i we 
entered the cold stone passage, passed 
through the workshop, and paused at the 
door of the little room where the sick man 
was lying, Stan dish opened the door, 
holding a candle in his hand as he did so. 
We both looked towards the bed ; for a 
moment we could see nothing, for the candle 
threw a deep shadow, then the condition of 
things became clear. The warder, who had 
charge of Bayard, lay in an unconscious heap 

the prisoner himself had 

The man was malingering 
has escaped," cried the 


on the floor — 

" Good God ! 
after all, and 

I bent dow T n over the warder; he had 
been deprived of his outer garments, and lay 
in his shirt on the floor. I turned him on 
his back, examined his head, and asked 
Standish to fetch some brandy ; a moment 
or two later the man revived. 

He opened his eyes and looked at me in a 
dazed way. 

" Where am I ? v he said. " What, in the 
name of wonder, has happened ? Oh, now 
I remember — that scoundrel — let me get up, 
there is not a moment to lose." 

II You must not stir for a minute or two," 
I said. " You have had a bad blow, and 
must lie still. You are coming to yourself 
very fast, however. Stay quiet for a moment, 
and then you can tell your story." 

"Meanwhile, I will go and give the alarm/ 1 
said Standish, who had been watching us 

He left the room. The warder had 
evidently been only badly stunned — he was 
soon almost himself again. 

"I remember everything now, sir," he said. 
" I beg your pardon, sir, I don't know your 

"I am a friend of the Governor," 1 an- 
swered, "a doctor from London. Now tell 
your story, and be quick about it." 

"We all had a good word for Sixty," 
replied the man; " 'e was a bit of a 
favourite, even though 'e wor a convict. 
To-night he laid like one dead, and I thought, 
pore chap, J e might never survive this yere 

attack ; all of a 
sudden I seed 
his eyes wide 
open and fixed 
on me. 

" 'Simpkins/ 
he says, ■ don't 
speak —you are 
a dead man if 
you speak, Simp- 
kins, and I saved 
your life once/ 

"'True for 
you, Sixty,' I 
answered him. 

"'Well; he 
says, ( it's your 
turn now to save 
mine. You 'and 

TJW?tRSITYOFMICHI^r eryourhat ' 



and jacket, and trousers,' says 'e. * Be quick 
about it. If you say "no," I'll stun you— I 
can — I've hid a weapon under the mattress.' 

" l Oh, don't you go and break prison, 
Sixty,' I answered ; ' you'll get a heap added 
to your sentence if you do that' 

" i I must,' he said, his eyes wild-like. c I 
saw it in the papers, and I must go — there 
is one I must save, Simpkins, from a fate 
worse than death. Now, is it "yes" or 
" no " ? ' 

" ' It's "no,"' I answered, as I makes for 

" I'd scarcely said the words," continued 
the man, " before he was on me — he leapt out 
of bed, and caught me by the throat. I 
remember a blow and his eyes looking wild 
— and then I was unconscious. The next 
thing I knew was you pouring brandy down 
my throat, sir." 

" You are better now," I replied ; " you 
had better go at once, and tell your story to 
the authorities." 

The man left the room, and I hastened to 
find Standish. There was hurry and con- 
fusion and a general alarm. There was not 
the least doubt that Bayard had walked 
calmly out of Hartmoor prison in Warder 
Simpkins's clothes. One of the porters 
testified to this effect A general alarm was 
given, and telegrams immediately sent to 
the different railway and police stations. 
Standish said that the man would assuredly be 
brought back the following morning. Even 
if by any chance he managed to get as far as 
London, he would, in his peculiar clothes, 
be arrested there immediately. 

I remained at Hartmoor for a good part 
of the following day, but Standish's expecta- 
tions were not realized. Although telegrams 
were sent to the different police-stations, there 
was no news with regard to Edward Bayard. 
It was presently ascertained that Simpkins 
had money in the pocket of his jacket — he 
had just received his week's wages, and had 
altogether about ^3 on his person. When 
this fact became known the success of the 
escape was considered probable. As there 
was nothing more for me to do, I re- 
turned to London on the evening of the 
following day, and reached my own house in 
time for breakfast. 

I was anxious to see I.ady Kathleen, but 
was puzzled to know how I could communi- 
cate with her. My doubts on this point, 
however, were set to rest in a very unexpected 
manner. When I returned home after seeing 
my patients that afternoon, Harris surprised 
me with the information that Miss Levesen 

was waiting to see me. I went to her at 
once. She came forward to greet me with a 
look of excitement on her face. 

" You remember your patient, Lady Kath- 
leen Church ? " she asked. 

"Perfectly," I replied. "I hope she is 

" Far from that, she is worse — I consider 
her very ill. Her wedding is to take place in 
a few days, but unless something is done to 
relieve her terrible tension of mind, we are 
more likely to have a funeral than a wedding 
on that day." 

" What are her special symptoms at pre- 
sent ? " I asked. 

"She has been going from bad to worse 
since you saw her, Dr. Halifax. This 
morning she went out by herself for a short 
time, and returned in a very strange state of 
excitement Her own impression was that 
she was losing her senses. She begged and 
implored that I would send for you. And I 
resolved to come to fetch you myself. Can 
you come to see her ? " 

" Certainly," I replied ; " at what hour ? " 

" Now, if you will ; there is no time to be 
lost. Will you return with me ? Your patient 
is very ill, and ought to have attention with- 
out a moment's delay." 

" My carriage is at the door ; shall we go 
back to your house in it ? " I asked. 

" Certainly," replied Miss Levesen. 

She rose from her chair at once — she was 
evidently impatient to be off. As we were 
driving to Piccadilly, she turned and spoke 
to me. 

" While we have an opportunity, I wish to 
say something," she said. 

"What is that?" I asked. 

"I should naturally be glad if Lady 
Kathleen married my brother, but I wish 
you clearly to understand that I am not one 
to force the marriage. I fear the poor girl has 
not got over another most unfortunate attach- 
ment. Under present circumstances, I have 
made up my mind to cease to urge the 
wedding which we had hoped would so soon 
take place. I can't get my brother, however, 
to view matters in the same light; he is 
determined at any risk to keep Lady Kathleen 
to her promise." 

" He cannot force her," I said. 

" By moral suasion, yes — you do not know 
the man, Dr. Halifax." 

I said nothing further — we had drawn up 
at the magnificent mansion in Piccadilly, and 
a few moments later I found myself in the 
presence of my patient- Miss Levesen brought 

me ^^^^ife* withdrew - 



"Go in alone," she said, "that will be 
best I don't want my brother to think 
that I'm in any way plotting against his 

She said these last words in an almost 
frightened whisper, and vanished before I had 
time to reply. I knocked at the door — a 
man's voice called to me to enter, and I 
found myself in a pretty boudoir. 

The young girl whom I had come to see 
was lying on a sofa — her eyes were shut — a 
handkerchief, wrung out of some eau de 
Cologne and water, was placed over her brow. 
A man was seated by her side — he was 
evidently nursing her with extreme care, and 
there was a look of solicitude on his face. 
1 guessed at once that this man was Levesen. 
A hasty glance showed me that he was in the 
prime of life. He was dressed irreproachably, 
and looked not only gentlemanly, but 
aristocratic. He rose when I entered, and 
bowed to me rather stiffly. I hastened 
to tell him my name and errand. Without 
a word he offered me his seat near the patient. 
I^ady Kathleen had opened her eyes when I 
came in— she roused herself from the sort 
of deathlike stupor into which she had sunk, 
and gave me one or two glances of interest 
and relief. I put some questions to her, 
but I quickly saw that in Levesen's presence 
she was constrained and uncomfortable. 

" Do you object to my seeing the patient 
for a few moments alone ? " I asked of him. 

His answer surprised me. 

" I do," he said ; " there is nothing you 
can say to Lady Kathleen that I have not a 
right to listen to. She is suffering from 
nervousness — nervousness bordering on 
hysteria— she needs sleep — a sedative will 
supply her with sleep. Will you have the 
goodness to write a prescription for one? — 
you will find paper, pen, and ink on this 

He spoke in a quiet voice, the rudeness 
underneath being covered by a very suave 
manner. I was just turning to put some 
more questions to Lady Kathleen, when she 
surprised me by sitting up on the sofa and 
speaking with startling emphasis and force. 

" You won't go away? " she said to Levesen. 

" I will not," he replied. 

" Then I will speak before you. No, 
you cannot cow me — not while Dr. 
Halifax is here. You shall hear the truth 
now, Francis, unless you change your mind 
and leave the room." 

" I prefer to remain," he answered, with a 
sneer. " I should be glad to know what is 
really in your mind." 

" I will tell you. I only marry you 
because I am afraid to refuse you. The 
only influence you have over me is one 
of terror. At the present moment I 
feel strong enough to defy you. That is 
because Dr. Halifax is here. He is a strong 
man, and he gives me courage. I don't love 
you — I hate you — I hate you with all my 
heart and strength. You don't love me — 
you only want to marry me for my money." 

While Lady Kathleen was speaking, 
Levesen rose. 

"You see how ill your patient is, doctor," 
he said, "you perceive how necessary 
a sedative is. My dear child," he added, 
"you are not quite accountable for your 
words at the present moment. Pray don't 
talk any more while you are so feverish and 

" But I have something more to say," she 
answered. " Perhaps you will think me mad 
— perhaps I am mad — still, mad or sane, I 
will now say what is in my mind. I hate you, 
and I love Edward Bayard. I saw Edward 
in the park this morning. He was standing 
close to Stanhope Gate. I passed him. I 
wanted to turn and speak to him, but before 
I could do so, he had vanished. Yes, I saw 
him. It was that sight which completely 
upset, me — it took ray last remnant of 
strength away. When I returned home I 
thought I should die — the shock was terrible 
— perhaps I did not really see him — perhaps 
I am mad, and it was a case of illusion. 
Oh, Francis, don't ask me to marry you — 
don't exercise your strength over me — give 
me back my freedom. Don't make a girl 
who hates you as I do, your wife." 

" Come," said Levesen, " this is serious. 
Stay quiet, my dear child ; you are really not 
in a condition to excite yourself. I did not 
know, doctor," he added, turning to me, 
" that the case was so bad. Of course, Lady 
Kathleen is suffering from illusion, seeing 
that Bayard is at present working out the 
sentence he richly deserves at Hartmoor." 

" He is an innocent man, and you know 
it," said Lady Kathleen. 

" Poor girl, her malady has grown much 
worse than I had any idea of," continued 

I interrupted. 

"That does not follow," I replied. " lady 
Kathleen is very ill, but she is not suffering 
from illusion. It is very probable that she 
did see Bayard this morning, seeing that he 
escaped from Hartmoor two nights ago." 

"What?" said Lady Kathleen. 

My wards seamed to electrify her. She 



sprang from the sofa, and clasped one of 
my hands in hers, 

" Edward has escaped from prison ? " she 
said, with a sort of gasp, 

Levesen said nothing, but his face assumed 
an ugly, greenish tinL 

" It is true " I began. 

My words were interrupted, A sudden 
noise was heard in the drawing-room which 
communicated with the boudoir. Quick 
footsteps approached, the door of the boudoir 
was burst open, and a man whom I had 
never seen before rushed in, and clasped 
Levesen by one of his hands. 

" What in the world is the matter, Franks ?" 
said Levesen, in a tone of displeasure. 

" Matter !— it is all up ? " said Franks, in a 
choking, trembling voice— " that— that poor 
fellow has escaped — he is in the house. Oh, 
I know he has come for me — he — hell 
murder me — he'll shoot us both, Levesen. 
I saw him in the hall, and he carried a 
revolver. He'll kill us, Levesen, I say — he 
will — there is murder in his eyes — he is a 
madman— oh, what shall we do? 1 ' 

"For God's sake restrain yourself," said 
Levesen ; " it is you who have taken leave 
of your senses." 

"No, it isn't," said another voice; "he 
has reason enough for his fears." 

The door had been opened a second time, 
and Bayard, the man I had seen last in 

me," said Bayard, " 
wretched life — I don't 

prison garb, look- 
ing like death upon 
his trundle bed, 
stood before us ; 
he carried a re- 
volver, but did not 
use it. Franks, who 
had been almost 
beside himself, 
rushed now towards 
Bayard and flung 
himself on his 
knees at his feet. 

" Spare my life," 
he said; "don't 
take my life* 1 
have repented for 
months. Spare me 
— don't murder me 
— Vm afraid of 
you. Let me go, 
I say." 

The wretched 
man raised his 
voice almost to a 

" Don't kneel to 

I won't take your 

want it Tell the 

truth, you coward. You gave me that 
cheque ? " 

M £ did, Bayard, I did. I've been in 
misery ever since— I was tempted and I fell. 
It is true. Don't take my life." 

" I don't want your life," said Bayard. "I 
would not soil my hands with you — I would 
not pollute myself with your blood. You 
have got to answer me one or two quest ions, 
however. You gave me the cheque for 


" Yes, yes," 

" Levesen gave it to you for the purpose ? " 

" He did." 

" Franks, you don't know what you are 
saying," i n t e rrup t ed Levesen ; "terror has 
turned your head." 

" No, it hasn't, Levesen/ 1 replied Franks. 
"You did give me the cheque to give to 
Bayard. I ean T t help telling the truth. I 
would do a great deal for you, but I prefer 
ruin and disgrace to the mental anguish our 
crime has caused me. This fellow will shoot 
me if I don't tell the truth now, and by 
heavens, Vm not going to lose my life 
lor yon, I>ev* sen." 

"As far as I am concerned, you are safe, 1 ' 
said Bayard, laying his pistol on the table* 
41 You have admitted the truth, that is all I 

™^M#fM!tej *™ is up - 



You never guessed that I should break prison 
to confront you. You and Franks between 
you invented the most malicious conspiracy 
which was ever contrived to ruin an innocent 
man — you got me false imprisonment, but it 
is your turn now. You sha'n't escape, either 
of you* This gentleman here, I think I 
know him— I saw him two days ago at Hart- 
moor— will be my witness. Your game is 
up ; I, too, can plot and contrive* 1 feigned 
serious illness in order to lull suspicion, and 
so got out of prison. I did this because you, 
Levesen, goaded me to madness — you took 
away my liberty — my character — you ruined 
my entire life ; but when, added to these 
iniquities, you determined to force the girl 
whom I love, and who loves me, to be 
your wife, I felt that matters had come to 
an extremity. By a mere accident, I saw the 
notice of your engagement to Lady Kathleen 
in a paper which another convict lent 
me* I was in hospital at the time* From 
that moment 1 played a desperate game. I 
escaped from prison with the intention of 
shooting you, if necessary, you black-hearted 
scoundrel, rather than allow you to become 
the husband of the girl I love/' 

"The girl who loves you, Edward," said 
Lady Kathleen. 

She flew to his side, and threw her soft, 
white arms round his neck. He gave her a 

quick, passionate 
glance, but did 
not speak. 

"You must 
make a statement 
in writing," he 
said to Franks* 
"As to you, 

Levesen No, 

you don't leave 
the room " — for 
levesen had softly 
approached the 
door — " I have a 
pistol here, and 
I'm a desperate 
man. You - will 
know best if it is 
worth exciting my 
rage or not. You 
will witness 
Franks's confes- 
sion. Now then, 
Franks, get your 
deposition down. 
I see paper, pen, and ink on that table. 
Now write, and be quick about it" 

"You write at your peril, Franks/ 1 said 
Levesen, "Are you mad to give yourself 
away as you are doing? What is this fellow 
here, but an escaped convict? Don't put 
anything on paper, Franks." 

"Yes, but I will," said Franks, suddenly, 
u It is not only that I am frightened, Levesen 
— upon my word, I am almost glad of the 
relief of confession. You don't know what 
I've been through— perfect torture — yes, 
no more and no less. Bayard was no enemy 
of mine, I know you gave me money, and 
I have not much moral courage, and I fell ; 
but the fact is, I'd rather serve my own time 
at Hartmoor than go through the mental 
misery which I have been enduring of late/ 1 

" Put your confession on paper without a 
moment's delay," said Bayard, in a stern 

His words rang out with force. Notwith- 
standing his dress, his shaven head, his worn 
and suffering face — he had the manner of 
the man who conquers at that moment. The 
spell of fear which he had exercised over 
Franks he so far communicated to Levesen 
that he ceased to expostulate, and stood with 
folded arms, sullen face, and lowered eyes, 
not far from the door. I saw that he w r ould 
escape if he could, but Bayard took care of 

" Write, .a^f^il^fif^^hout it," he said to 




The wretched Franks bent over his paper. 
He was a short, thickly-set man, of middle 
age. His face was red and mottled. I^arge 
beads of perspiration stood on his brow. 
His iron-grey head was slightly bald. The 
hand with which he wrote shook. All the 
time he was writing there was absolute silence 
in the room. Lady Kathleen continued to 
stand by Bayard's side. She had lost her 
nervousness and hysteria. Her cheeks were 
full of beautiful colour, her eyes were bright 
— she had undergone a transformation. 

At last Franks laid down his pen. He 
took his handkerchief fnmi his pocket and 
wiped the moisture from his brow. 

"Give me the paper/' said Bayard. 

Franks did so. 

"Will yem, sir, read 
this aloud?" said the 
ex-prisoner, turning sud- 
denly to me, 

"Certainly," I an- 

The queer group 
stood silent around me, 
while I read the follow- 
ing words : — 

" On the 4th of May, 
189 — p Francis Levesen, 
whose secretary I have 
heen for several years, 
brought me a cheque 
for the sum of ^5,000, 
which he had made pay- 
able to Edward Bayard 
He told me to give the 
cheque to Bayard, re- 
marking, as he did so: — 

"*The fellow is in 
difficulties, and will find 
this useful * 

** Bayard at the time 
was engaged to I^ady 
Kathleen Church, Francis Levesen's ward. 
I replied that I did not know Mr, Bayard 
was in money difficulties. 

"'He is,' said Levesen ; 'he has been 
fool enough to put his name to a bill for a 
friend, and has to meet a claim for ^3,000 
within the next ten days. He asked me to 
lend him that sum to meet the difficulty in 
Lady Kathleen's presence yesterday. 1 
refused to grant his request at the time, and 
he seemed in distress about it.' 

" * And yet you are now giving 
jQSfQQQi* I said. 'That seems strange 

circumstances, Get him to take the cheque. 
The fact is, there is more in this matter than 
meets the eye. I want you to help me in a 
small conspiracy, and will make it worth 
your while. You are to give this cheque to 
Bayard when no one is present. See that he 
presents it at my bank. If you can act 
quietly and expeditiously in this matter, I 
will give you that thousand pounds you want 
so badly in cash.' 

11 ' \\ hat do you mean? ' I asked, looking 
at him in fear and astonishment. 

" 4 You know you want that money,' he 

u ' God knows I do/ I answered. 

"*To meet that bill of sale on vour 



ing that he only requires a loan of ,£3,000.' 

« * Never mind/ said Levesen, 'a little 
ready cash will be acceptable under the 

furniture/ continued 
Levesen, 'Your 
wife is just going 
to have a baby, and 
if the furniture is 
sold over her head, 
you fear the shock 
will kill her. Is not 
that so ? Oh, yes, 
I know all about 
you — a thousand 
pounds will put all straight, will it not ? J 

" * Yes, yes ; but the deuce is in this matter/ 
I replied. 4 \Vhat are you up to, Levesen — 
what is your game ? ' 

14 levesen 's face became ashen in hue. 
(f *My game is this/ he hissed into my 
ear : 'I mean to do for that wretched, smooth- 
tongued sneak, Bayard.' 

" ' I thought he was your friend/ I 

iii Friend !' said Levesen, 'If there is a 
man I hate, it is he. He has come between 
me and the girl I intend to marry, I have 
made up my mind to ruin him. In short, 
he sha'n't ha> + e Lady. Kathleen — I shall lock 
him up, JMHSHNou will help me, the deed 




can be done, and you shall have your 

" I was as wax in his hands, for the state of 
my own affairs was desperate. I asked what 
I was to do. 

" ' I mean to have Bayard arrested,' said 
Levesen. ' I mean to have him arrested on 
a charge of forgery. When the moment 
comes, you are to help me. I mean to 
prove that Bayard forged the signature to the 
cheque which you now hold in your hand. 
He will declare that you gave it to him — you 
are to deny the fact — in short, you and I will 
have to go through a good deal of false swear- 
ing. If we stick together and make our plans, 
I am convinced that the thing can be carried 
through. My ward can't marry a man who 
is going through penal servitude, and, by 
Heaven, Bayard shall have a long term.' 

" I said I couldn't do it, but Levesen said : 
c Sleep over it.' I went home. The Evil One 
fought with me all night, and before the morn- 
ing he had conquered me. That thousand 
pounds and the thought of saving the home 
were what did for me. We carried out our 
scheme. I am prepared to swear to the truth 
of this statement before a magistrate. 

"John Franks." 

" It would be well to have witnesses to this," 
I said, when I had done reading. "Lady 
Kathleen, will you put your name here ? " 

She came forward at once, writing her full 
name in a bold, firm hand. I put mine 
under hers. 

" And now, Bayard," I said, " this is not a 
moment for showing mercy ; a foul deed has 
been committed, and only the stern arm of 
justice can set matters right. Will you have 
the goodness to go at once for the police ? 
Levesen and Franks must be taken into 
custody to-night on the charge of malicious 
conspiracy against you, for causing you to be 
falsely imprisoned, and for perjury." 

"One moment before you go, Bayard," 
said Levesen — moving a step forward and 
speaking with the studied calm which all 
through this strange scene had never deserted 
him. "There is another side to Franks's 

story, and when I have said my say to-morrow 
morning before the magistrate, I can easily 
prove that the statement made on that piece 
of paper is worth no more than the paper on 
which it is written. There is not a magistrate 
on the Bench who is likely to give even a 
moment's serious consideration to such a 
trumped-up tale told under pressure, and at 
the instigation of an escaped convict You 
can do your worst, however — I am so con- 
scious of my own innocence that I have no 
wish to escape." 

" Have you done speaking ? " said Bayard. 

" I have — you will repent of this." 

Bayard left the room. In less than half 
an hour, Levesen and Franks had been 
carried off to the nearest police-station, and 
Bayard was left alone with Lady Kathleen. 
I went then to find Miss Levesen. I had a 
painful task in telling the poor lady the 
shameful truth. She was a hard woman, but 
she at least had been no partner in Levesen's 
horrible conspiracy. 

The events which followed can be told in 
a few words. The next morning, early, I 
took Bayard to see my own solicitor, who 
instructed him to return to Hartmoor, and to 
give himself up ; in the meantime, a petition 
would be immediately presented to the Queen 
for his free pardon. 

That pardon was obtained in less than a 
week — although Bayard had to go through a 
short nominal punishment for his assault on 
the warder and his escape from Hartmoor. 

One of the sensational trials at the autumn 
assizes was that of Levesen and Franks. 
The intelligent jury who listened to the trial 
were not long in making up their minds with 
regard to the verdict. I do not know that I 
am a specially hard man, but I could not 
help rejoicing when the judge's sentence was 
known. Levesen and Franks are now serving 
their time at Hartmoor — their sentence was 
seven years' imprisonment. 

As to Lady Kathleen, she has completely 
recovered her health, and the long postponed 
wedding took place before the Christmas of 
that year. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Sea - Serpent. 

By Alfred T. Story. 

HERE is a general disposition 
to regard the sea- serpent and 
all the talcs of him as an ever- 
lasting joke* He only turns 
up, say the jokers, when Par- 
liament is out of Session and 
the silly season arrives with its prize goose- 
berries and showers of frogs ; and he usually 
turns up in America, in a local paper. 
Nevertheless, there is reason to believe that 
the sea-serpent is a living fact ; or, perhaps, it 
is safer to say that there is evidence that 
great living creatures of a kind or kinds as 
yet unclassified by science inhabit the sea ; 
probably in small numbers, and quite possibly 
not serpents in the usual sense of the word. 

Every circum- 
stance tends to 
deny a fair hear- 
ing to evidence as 
to the seaserpent 
A man reporting 
having seen it is 
laughed at, and a 
sailor doesn't like 
being laughed at 
by a landsman. 
Of course, a long 
trail of seaweed 
rocking upon the 
sea surface may, 
at one time and 
another, have been 
mistaken for a 
living thing, or a 
procession of porpoises may have been 
thought to be one great organism. But a 
sailor, as a rule, knows seaweed or a porpoise 
when he sees it, and is more likely to know 
actually what he does see on the water than a 
landsman who wasn't there; and it is unlikely 
that every sailor who reports a sea-serpent 
must be drunk, blind, or a fool It has, how- 
ever, become customary to assume that he is, 
and, as a result, a sailor is disposed to keep 
quiet about anything out of the ordinary 
which he may see, since he has nothing to 
gain by making announcement of it. 

It may be remembered that tales of 
gigantic cuttle-fishes were regarded, until 
comparatively recently, with as much incre- 
dulity as those of the sea-serpent, yet the 
existence of such cuttle-fish is now as much 
a recognised scientific fact as that of the 
whale. Let us, then, examine such small 

V6L *.-2l. 

part as we may of the large body of evidence 
on the subject. 

The Norwegian fishermen regard the 
existence of the sea-serpent as a thing beyond 
all dispute, and can tell any number of stories 
of his appearance in their fiords ; and a 
Norwegian book of travel published in the 
sixteenth century describes its appearance in 
the year 1522. 

Glaus Magnus, who is careful to say that 
his description is from hearsay and not from 
personal observation, describes the sea-ser- 
pent as being 200ft, long and toft, in circum- 
ference, having fiery eyes and a short mane, 
He also gives a very surprising picture where- 
in the sea serpent is represented curling about 


entirely out of the water, and reaching over 
to snap a man from the deck of a ship. 

Hans Egede, who afterwards became a 
bishop, travelled to Greenland in the year 
1734 as a missionary. In his account of the 
voyage, he describes a sea -monster which 
appeared near the ship on the 6th of July* 
"Its head," he says, "when raised, was on a 
level with our main-top* Its snout was long 
and sharp, and it blew water almost like a 
whale; it had large, broad paws or paddles; 
its body was covered with scales ; its skin 
was rough and uneven ; in other respects it 
was as a serpent ; and when it dived, the end 
of its tail, which was raised in the air, seemed 
to be a full ship's length from its hody." A 
companion of Egede's, also a missionary, 
made a sketch of the monster, which is here 

nfi?##Mta Be,genX the 




famous Norwegian naturalist, at first dis- 
believed in the sea-serpent, hut confesses his 
conversion in his book (published in 1755) 
since he had received ''full and sufficient 
evidence from creditable and experienced 
fishermen and sailors in Norway, of whom 
hundreds testify that they have seen them 
annually/ 3 Pontoppidan tells us that it is 
the habit of the sea-serpent (which he 
identifies with the Leviathan of Scripture) to 
keep at the bottom of the sea except in their 
spawning time, in July and August, when 
they rise £0 the surface occasionally, if the 
weather be calm, but make their way below im- 
mediately should the least disturbance tike 
place. He discriminates between the Green- 
land and the Norwegian sea-snakes, the former 
luring s</nly as to the outer .skin, but the latter 
perfectly smooth, and with a mane about the 
neck, hanging like a bunch of seaweed. 
From the various accounts he estimates the 
length of the serpent at about 600ft., this 
length lying on the surface in many folds in 
calm weather. The forehead in all varieties 
is high and broad, though some have a sharp 
and others a flat 
snout. The eyes are 
large and bluish, 
looking like bright 
pewter plates. The 
rolour is dark 
brown, variegated 
in places* Thus 
Erik Pontoppidan. 

The Zoohgiit for the year 1847, too, con- 
tained many accounts of the appearance, 
during that year, of sea-serpents in the Nor- 
wegian fiords. 

One of the most famous and best authenti- 
cated appearances of the monster is that 
recorded to have been observed by the 

officers and crew 
of H.M.S. Bm4+ 
/us in 1848. We 
reproduce, entire, 
the official report 
of Captain 
M 'Quhae to 
Admiral Sir YV. ft 
Gage on the sub- 
ject :— 
" H.M.S. 

" Hamoaze, 

Oct nth. 
"Sir,— In reply 
to your letter of 
this day's date, re- 
quiring informa- 
tion as to the truth of a statement, published 
in the Times newspaper, of a sea -serpent of 
extraordinary dimensions having been seen 
from Her Majesty's ship Dtrdalus, under my 
command, in her passage from the East Indies, 
I have the honour to acquaint you, for the 
information of my Lords Commissioners of 
the Admiralty, that at 5 o'clock p.m,, on the 
6th of August last, in latitude 24 44' S and 
longitude 9° 22' E., the weather dark and 
cloudy, wind fresh from the N.W., with a 
long ocean swell from the S.W,, the ship on 
the port tack, heading RE. by N>, something 
very unusual was seen by Mr. Sartoris, mid- 
shipman, rapidly approaching the ship from 
before the beam. The circumstance was 
immediately reported by him to the officer of 
the watch, Lieutenant Edgar Drummond, 
with whom, and Mr William Barrett, the 
master, I was at the time walking the 
quarter-decL The ship's company were at 

"On our attention being called to the object, 
it was discovered co be an enormous serpent, 
with head and shoulders kept about 4ft. 


constantly above the surface of the sea ; and, 
as nearly as we could approximate by com- 
paring it with the length of what our main- 
topsail yard would show in the water, there 
was at the very least 60ft. of the animal 
a fitttr rfV.tfiV, n<] portion of which was, 

in °^i^^?m^iG.^ propelling * 




through the water, either by vertical or 
horizontal undulation. It passed rapidly, 
but so close under our lee quarter that, had 
it been a mnn of my acquaintance, I should 
have easily recognised his features with the 
naked eye ; and it did not, either in approach- 
ing the ship or after it had passed our wake, 
deviate in the slightest degree from its course 
to the S.W., which it held on at the pace 
of from twelve to fifteen miles per hour, 
apparently on some determined purpose, 
The diameter of the serpent was about fifteen 
or sixteen inches behind the head, which 
was, without any doubt, that of a snake J 
and it was never, during the twenty minutes 
that it continued in sight of our glasses, 
once below the surface of the water ; its 
colour, a dark brown with yellowish white 
about the throat It had no fins, but some- 
thing like the mane of a horse, or 
rather a bunch of seaweed, washed 
about its back. It was seen by the 
quartermaster, the boatswain's mate, 
and the man at the wheel in addition 
to myself and officers above men- 

"I am having a drawing of the 
serpent made from a sketch taken 
immediately after it was seen, which 
I hope to have ready for transmis- 
sion to my Lords Commissioners of 
the Admiralty by to-morrow's post. 
" I have the honour to be, sir, 

" Your obedient servant, 
"Peter M'Quhae, Capt 

"To Admiral Sir W. H. Gage, 
C.C.B., Devonport." 

This is unassailable evidence from 
the best source possible the ob- 

servation of several 
educated men used 
to the sea, and set 
down in a sober, 
official report. A 
letter was printed 
shortly after in the 
Ghhe newspaper, 
giving an account 
of the appearance 
of a similar (very 
possibly the same) 
monster to the 
American brig 
Daphne^ 2odeg. 
further south, soon 
after it was seen 
from the DtEdaius* 
The publication 
of the D&dalus 
adventure kd to many stories of similar 
encounters being brought forward in the 
Press of the time. 

Captain W. H. Nelson, of the American 
ship Sacramento^ reported catching a glimpse 
of a strange sea-monster on July 30th, 1877, in 
latitude 31* 59' N., and longitude 37* W, The 
man at the wheel (his name was John Hart) 
had a better view than Captain Nelson, since 
he first caught sight of it, and the captain did 
not arrive upon deck until it had proceeded 
some distance on its way. Some 40ft of the 
creature, the helmsman estimated, was seen 
a bene the surface, and its girth appeared to 
he about that of a flour barrel He afterwards 
made a pencil sketch, from which it would 
appear to be a different animal altogether 
from those usually reported, and somewhat 
riL'Humhlin^ the ancient ichthyosaurus. 


x6 4 


The next account I shall quote is that of 
an officer of H.M.S, Plumper^ whose descrip- 
tion is as follows : — 

*' On the morning of the 31st of December, 
1848,1111, 41" j 3' N,, and long, ia* 31' W. t 
being nearly due west of Oporto, 1 saw a 

j>ea-$ilki j i£f<;t shen fkom h.m.s. I'LUMI-er. 

long, black creature with a sharp head, moving 
slowly, I should think about two knots, 
through the water, in a north - westerly 
direction, there being a fresh breeze at the 
time and some sea on. I could not 
ascertain its exact length, but its back 
was 20ft, if not more, above the water, 
and its head, as near as I could judge, 
from 6ft. to 8ft. I had not the time 
to make a closer observation, as the ship 
was going six knots through the water, her 
head E, half S., and S.S.E. The creature 
moved across our wake, towards a merchant 
barque on our lee-quarter and on the port 
tack. I was in hopes she would have seen 
it also. The officers and men saw it, and 
(those) who have served in parts of the world 
adjacent to whale and seal fisheries, and 
have seen them in the water, declare they 
have never seen or heard of any creature 
bearing the slightest resemblance to the 
one we saw* There was something on its 
back that appeared like a mane, and, as 

it moved through the water, kept washing 
about ; but before I could examine it closely 
it was too far astern," The illustration is 
from a sketch by the officer. 

The following account of a sea-serpent was 
communicated to the Illustrated London 

Nnm :— 

i{ Colonial Agency, 
M 4, Cullum St., 
" London, 
"Sept. 25th, 1S53, 
"We hand you 
the folio wing extract 
from the log-book 
of our ship Princess^ 
Captain A. K. N. 
Tremaine. in Lon- 
don Docks, 15th 
instant, from China , 
viz. : ( Tuesday, 
July 8th, 1853; 
latitude (accurate) 
34*56* S, ; longi- 
tude (accurate) 
1814° E, At 1 
p,m, saw a very 
large fish, with a 
head like a walrus, 
and twelve fins similar to those of the blaekfish, 
but turned the contrary way, The back was 
from 20ft. to 30ft, long ; also a great length of 
tail. It is not improbable that this monster 
has been taken for the great sea-serpent. 
Fired and hit it near the head with rifle balL 
At eight, fresh wind and fine.' The mon- 
ster was seen by the entire ship's crew, as 
also by Captain Morgan, a passenger by the 

Another well -authenticated sea-serpent is 
that seen by Dr. Hiccard, of Cape Town, in 
February, 1857, a month later seen by Mr. 
Fair bridge and others, Dr. Hiccard was at the 
lighthouse at Green Point in the afternoon of 
the day in question, about 5 p.m., when 
the lighthouse-keeper asked him to "come 
and see a sea-monster." " I proceeded to 
the lighthouse/' wrote Dr. Biccard, "and 
from thence I saw on the water, about 
150yds, from the shore, a serpent, of 
which some details have already appeared 
in print (This refers to the account by 



riginal from 



Mr Fatrbridge.) It was lying in the 
position shown in the accompanying sketch, 
No. 1, I borrowed a rifle from Mr. Hall 
(the father-in-law of the light house-keeper), 
and fired at the animal. The ball fell 
short in front of it by about four yards, 
as shown in the sketch. The animal did 
not move, and I then fired a second shot, 
the ball striking about ift or ij^ft. from it* 
The serpent then, apparently startled, moved 
from its position, and straightened himself 
out, and went under water, evidently getting 
out of the way. He was invisible about 

calm* Besides Dr. Biccard, the animal was 
seen by seven other persons. 

One of our illustrations is of the great 
American sea-serpent, a young one of w*hidi 
was actually caught and dissected by mem- 
bers of the Linn ;ean Society of Boston 
(some of the parts being here shown). In 
consequence of the reports of a great sea- 
serpent having been frequently seen during 
the month of August, 1817, in the harbour 
of Gloucester, Mass., and at a short distance 
at sea, the Linna&an Society appointed a com- 
mittee to collect evidence with regard to the 


ten minutes, at the expiration of which 
interval he reappeared at about 200yds, 
distance, and, I should say, about 40yds. 
farther off. He then came right on towards 
the place where I first saw him ; but before 
arriving there, my son, who had joined me, 
fired at the animal. Unluckily the discharge 
broke the nipple of the rifle, and I was 
thus prevented from further firing. Upon 
reaching the place which he first occupied, 
the serpent formed himself into the position 
delineated in sketch No, 2, and then stood 
right into the bay, and soon afterwards we 
lost sight of him altogether." 

Dr. Biccard goes on to say that the 
animal was about 200ft. in length, but its 
thickness he could not tell t only the upper 
part of its body being visible ; the head could 
be seen but indistinctly. He considered 
the protuberance to be the upper part of 
the head, but he could not discover the eyes. 
The body was of a dull, dark colour, ex- 
cept the head, which was maculated with 
white spots. The water at the time was very 

existence and appearance of such an animal 
In due course a report appeared, and if that 
alone was not convincing, the receipt by the 
Society a month later of an actual sea- 
serpent left the matter beyond dispute- It 
was of remarkable appearance, was decided 
by the Society to be the young of the great 
sea-serpent, and was named Stolioplus Atlan- 
ticus* It was killed on the sea-shore at no 
great distance from Cape Ann. The next 
cut is from an engraving of it in a pamphlet 
relating to the sea-serpent published by the 

In its issue of April 19th, 1879, tne Graphic 
gave an illustration of a sea -serpent seen by 
its correspondent, Major H. W, J. Senior, of 
the Bengal Staff ('nips, from a sketch by that 
gentleman, together with a description of the 
monster, as it appeared to him from the poop 
deck of the steamship City of Baltimore^ in 
latitude T2* 28' N., longitude 43" 52' K 
Major Senior first saw the creature about 
three-quarters of a mile distant, " darting 
rapidly out ,J 6P=IWM' w9t!e> and splashing in 


1 66 


again, with a noise 
distinctly audible/' 
and rapidly ap- 
proaching the ship. 
It arrived within 
500 yards before 
turning its course 
and finally dis- 
appearing. It 
moved so rapidly 
that it was impos- 
sible to fix it with 
the telescope, so 
that Major Senior 
is doubtful whether 
it had scales or 
not, but as well 
as could be ascer- 
tained by the un- 
aided eye it had 
none, i£ The head 
and neck," says 
Major Senior, 
"about two feet in 
diameter, rose out 
of the water to a 
height of about 
twenty or thirty 
feet, and the mon- 
ster opened its jaws 
wide as it rose, and 
closed them again 
as it lowered its 
head and darted 
forward for a dive, 
reappearing almost 
immediately some 
hundred yards 
ahead* The body 
was not visible at 
all, and must have 
been some depth 
under water, as the 
disturbance on the 
surface was too 
slight to attract 
notice, although 
occasionally a 
splash was seen at 
som e distance be- 
hind the head. The 
shape of the head 
was not unlike pic- 
tures of the dragon 
I have often seen, 
with a bulldog 
appearance of the 
forehead and eye- 
brow. When the 

monster had drawn its head sufficiently out 
of the water, it let itself drop, as it were, like 
a huge log of wood, prior to darting forward 
under the water* 11 Major Seniors statement 
was countersigned by Dr. Hall, the ship's 
surgeon, and Miss Greenfield, a passenger, 
both of whom saw the creature. 

bkA-SEkfl£N L iJiEW FKuM THE Si. " CITY O* JiALTlMuNfc. 

One of the most extraordinary accounts of 
the sea-serpent was that given by Captain 
Drevar, of the barque Pauline, and declared 
before a magistrate by himself and his crew. 
Much ridicule was cast upon the story hy 
certain journalists, who felt it necessary to be 
funny on the occasion, and Captain Drevar 
bitterly resented the doubts cast upon his 
veracity and capabilities for observation. It 
is difficult to dismiss the story as not proven, 
except upon the assumption that Captain 
Drevar and his crew agreed to tell a great lie 
for no earthly reason, and without the slightest 
inducement. This is the narrative, shortened 
in places, for considerations of space : — 

** Barque Pauline. — July 8th, 1875; laL 
5 13' S + , long- 35° \V\ ; Cape Roque, north- 
east corner of Brazil, distant twenty miles at 
1 1 a.m. 

"The weather fine and clear, the wind and 
sea moderate, Observed some black spots 
on the water and a whitish pillar, about 35ft. 
high, above them. At first I took it all to 
be breakers, as the sea was splashing up 
fountain-like about them, and the pillar, a 
pinnacle rock bleached with the sun; but the 
pillar fell with a splash and a similar one 
rose. They rose and fell alternately in quick 
succession, and good glasses showed me it 
was a monster sea-serpent coiled twice round 
a large sperm whale. The head and tail pans, 
each about 30ft. long, were acting as levers, 
twisting itself and victim around with great 
velocity. They sank out of sight about every 
two minutes, coming to the surface still revolv- 



DREVAR IN 1875. 

whales that were near, frantic with excitement, 
made the sea in this vicinity like a boiling 
caldron, and a loud and confused noise was 
distinctly heard. This strange occurrence 
lasted some fifteen minutes, and finished with 
the tail portion of the whale being elevated 
straight in the air, then waving backwards 
and forwards and lashing the water furiously 
in the last death struggle, when the whole 
body disappeared from our view, going down 
head foremost towards the bottom, where, 
no doubt, it was gorged at the serpent's 

leisure Then two of the largest 

sperm whales that I have ever seen moved 
slowly thence towards the vessel, their 
bodies more than usually elevated out of 
the water, and not spouting or making 
the least noise, but seeming quite paralyzed 
with fear; indeed, a 
cold shiver went 
through my own frame 
on beholding the last 
agonizing struggle of 
the poor whale that 
had seemed as help- 
less in the coils of the 
vicious monster as a 
small bird in the 
talons of a hawk. 
Allowing for two coils 
round the whale, I 
think the serpent was about 160ft. or 170ft. 
long and 7ft. or 8ft in girth. It was in colour 
much like a conger eel, and the head, from 
the mouth being always open, appeared the 

largest part of the body I wrote thus 

far, little thinking I should ever see the 
serpent again. But at 7 a.m., July 13th, in 
the same latitude, and some eighty miles 
east of San Roque, I was astonished to see 
the same or a similar monster. It was 
throwing its head and about 40ft. of its body 
in a horizontal position out of the water, as 
it passed onwards by the stern of our vessel. 
.... I was startled by the cry of * There it 
is again,' and, a short distance to leeward, 
elevated some 60ft. in the air, was the 


great leviathan, grimly looking towards the 

vessel This statement is strictly 

true, and the occurrence was witnessed by 
my officers, half the crew, and myself, and 
we are ready at any time to testify on oath 
that it is so, and that we are not in the least 

mistaken A vessel, about three 

years ago, was dragged over by some sea- 
monster in the Indian Ocean. 
"George Drevar, 

" Master of the Pauline." 
Upon seeing doubts cast upon his account 
in certain newspapers, Captain Drevar 
appeared before Mr. Raffles, stipendiary 
magistrate at the Dale Street Police Court, 
Liverpool, accompanied by some of his 
officers and crew, and made the following 
declaration : — 

"We, the undersigned, captain, office? s, 
and crew of the barque Pauline y of London, 
do solemnly and sincerely declare that on 
July 8th, 1875, in latitude 5 13' S., longitude 
35 \Y\, we observed three large sperm whales, 
and one of them was gripped round the body 
with two turns of what appeared to be a large 
serpent. The head and tail appeared to 
have a length beyond the coils of * aboi t 
30ft, and its girth 8ft or 9ft. The serpent 
whirled its victim round and round for about 
fifteen minutes, and then suddenly dragged 

the whole to • the 

bottom, head first. 

"George Drevar, 

"Horatio Thomp- 

"Henderson Lan- 

"Owen Baker. 

" r WlLLIAM Lewan." 
There were also two 

other declarations, 

relating to the sub- 
sequent appearance, and the declaration was 
again made at a Liverpool police-court. 

Captain Hassel, of the barque 6/. O/af, 
from Newport to Galveston, Texas, testifies 
to having seen, two days before arrival at the 
latter port, on May 13th, 1872, a large sea- 
serpent lying upon the surface of the water. 
Such part of the creature as was visible seemed 
about 70ft. long, and had four fins along the 
back. It was about 6ft. in diameter, and iit 
was of a greenish-yellow colour, with brownish 
spots over the upper part. One of the mates 
made a sketch of the animal. 

In June, 1877, the officers and crew of the 
Royal yacht Osborne encountered a sea- 

monst e , NifEMw^tSi^i Lieute ™ nt 




Haynes describes it thus : " My attention was 
first called by seeing a long row of fins appear- 
ing above the surface of the water at a distance 
of about 200yds. from the ship, and away 
on our beam. They were of irregular heights 
and extending about 30ft or 40ft in line (the 
former number is the length I gave, the latter 
the other officers). In a few seconds they 
disappeared, giving place to the forepart of 
the monster. By this time it had passed 
astern, swimming in an opposite direction to 
that we were steering, and as we were passing 
through the water at ten and a half knots I 
could only get a view of it * end on,' as shown 
in the sketch. The head was bullet-shaped, 
and quite 6ft. thick, the neck narrow, and 
its head was occasionally thrown back out of 
the water, remaining there for a few seconds 
at a time. It was very broad across the 
back or shoulders, about 1 5ft. or 2ofL, and the 
flappers appeared to have a semi-revolving 
motion, which seemed to paddle the monster 

along, They were about 15ft in length. 
From the top of the head to the part of the 
body where it became immersed, 1 should 
consider 50ft., and that seemed about one- 
third of the whole length. All this part was 
smooth, resembling a seal I cannot account 
for the fins, unless they were on the back 
below where it was immersed*" 

Rut we have still more recent witnesses to 
the fact of the existence of a sea-monster than 
the above. Captain R, J, Cringle, of the 
steamship D'mfuft, one of the ten vessels of 
the Natal Line, belonging to Messrs. Bullard, 
King, and Company, less than two years ago 
commanded the following to be written in his 
ship's log: — 

" Ss* Umfult\ Monday, Dec. 4th, 1893, 
5.30 p.m., lat. 23deg. N,, long. iSdeg. W. 
—Sighted and passed, about 500yds. from 
ship, a moflster fish of serpentine shape, 
about Soft, long, with shining skin, and short 
fins, about 20ft- apart, on the back ; in 


SB a- SE rp BM t seE N new «. M . 1 |.||'.]|i^Kjf.|Y Qf MICHIGAN 


1 59 

B, J. CRINfiLE. 

circumference, about the dimensions of a or body, 
fall-sized whale." 

The position indicated, as will be seen 
by reference to a map, is off the coast of 
Africa, a little south of 
the Canary Islands, and, 
broadly speaking, be- 
tween Cape Rojador and 
Cape Blanco- When 
questioned more nar- 
rowly about the mon- 
ster he had seen, Captain 
Cringle said he had 
never set eyes upon 
anything of the kind 
before, nor had any of 
the sailors on board the 
Umfttli. People had 
laughed at him for what 
they called his credulity, 
and said that both he 
and his crew and the 
passengers on board had 
been deceived \ but he 
was quite certain his 
eyes did not deceive 
him. The sea was like 
a mirror at the time, 
with not a cat's - paw 
nor a ruffle upon it ; 
"and this thing," he added, "whatever it 
was, was in sight for over half an hour. In 
fact, we did not lose sight of it until darkness 
came on/' 

Questioned as to how far the creature was 
away when they first saw it, Captain Cringle 
said, "When we first saw it I estimated that 
it would be about 400yds, away. It was 
rushing through the water at great speed, and 
was throwing water from its breast as a vessel 
throws water from her bows. I saw fill I 15 ft* 
of its head and neck on three several occa- 
sions. They appeared and disappeared three 
times. The body was all the time visible," 

Asked what the body looked like, Captain 
Cringle said he could liken it to nothing so 
well as to a hundred- 
ton gun partly sub- 
merged. It showed 
three distinct humps 
or swellings above 
the waves. Taking 
a pencil, he made a 
rough sketch of what 
he saw. (This was 
afterwards filled out 
by our artist, and is 
given in our illu- 
stration.) "The base, 
Vol. * -22. 

said he, " from which the neck 
sprang was much thicker than the neck 
itself, and I should not, therefore, call it 
a serpent. Had it been breezy enough 
to ruffle the water, or 
hazy, I should have had 
some doubt about the 
creature ; but the sea 
being so perfectly 
smooth, I had not the 
slightest doubt in my 
mind as to its being a 
sea-monster. I turned 
the ship round to get 
closer to it, and got 
much nearer than we 
were at first; but the 
sun was then setting 
and the light gone, so 
that to have run the 
ship nearer to the coast 
would have been folly," 
In reply to a ques- 
tion as to whether the 
creature seemed scaled, 
Captain Cringle said 
that so far as he could 
judge it was 
appeared to 
smooth skin, 
be of a dark brown colour, 
at one time so 
the passengers, a 



have a 
and to 
They were 
near to it that one of 
Mr, Kennealv, a gentle- 
man of some scientific attainments, said 
he could hear the creature hiss, but the 
first officer said, " No, that is the rushing 
of the water from his bows/' The scientific 
gentleman had a camera on board, but he 
was so excited that he never thought of it 
A little less excitement, and Mr. Kennealy 
might have immortalized himself. 

It will be seen from the photograph of the 
UnifuWs log that the chief officer, who has 
the keeping of it, had a look at the monster 
through his glass, and describes it as having 
an enormous mouth, with great rows of teeth. 

by GOO 





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Captain Cringle, however, who does not 
appear to have seen the creature's mouth 
open, said nothing about it. 

In concluding his account of what he saw 
on that notable 4th of December, Captain 
Cringle said, '* I have been so ridiculed about 
the thing that I ha\e many times wished that 
anybody else had seen that sea - monster 
rather than me. I have been told that it 
was a string of porpoises, that it was an 
island of seaweed, and I do not know what 
besides. But if an island of seaweed can 
travel at the rate of fourteen knots an hour, 
or if a string of porpoises can stand 15ft out 
of the water, then I give in, and confess my- 
self deceived- Such, however, could not be." 

Three months before Captain Cringle 
turned the UmfitU round in order to get a 
nearer sight of his sea-monster, Dr. Farquhar 
Matheson, of London, had a still closer view 
of a similar creature. Dr. Matheson is a 

trained observer, and one of the men ( east 
likely to be the subject of an illusion. 
What he saw he described shortly after- 
wards to several gentlemen. They laughed 
at him at first 3 because it is so usual 
to laugh at sea-serpent stories ; but they 
afterwards confessed that they thought there 
must be something in what he described, 
as he was not a person likely to be deceived. 
The ridicule to which he was subjected, 
however, made him decide to say very little 
about the matter. He gave the writer a 
succinct account of the monster he saw, 
which was made a note of at the time ; but, 
as he declined to have his name go forth in 
connection with it, no use was made of the 
narrative. Having now, however, given his 
consent for his name to be mentioned, his 
interesting experience is here for the first 
time put on record. 

The occurrence took place in September, 




1893, while Dr. Matheson was spending 
some time at his home in the north- 
west of Scotland He was at the time 
enjoying a sail with his wife on Loch Alsh, 
which separates the Island of Skye from 
the mainland. " It was a beautiful day," 
said Dr. Matheson, l( clear as possible, the 
sun shining brightly, and without douds. 
'I he time was between one and two. Our 
sail was up and we were going gaily along, 
when suddenly I saw something rise out of 
the Ixich in front of us — a long, straight, 
neck-like thing as tall as my mast I could 
not think what it was at first, I fancied it 
might be something on land, and directed my 
wife's attention to it. I said, *I)o you see 
that ? ' She said she did, and asked what it 
could be, and was rather scared. It was then 
200yds. away and was moving towards us. 
Then it began to draw its neck down, and I 
saw clearly that it was a large sea-monster — 
of tin.: saurian type, I should think. It was 
brown in colour, shining, and with a sort of 
ruffle at the junction of the head and 
necL I can think of nothing to which 
to compare it so well as the head and 
neck of the giraffe, only the neck was much 
longer, and the head was not set upon the 
neck like that of a giraffe ; that is t it was not 
so much at right-angles to it as a continua- 
tion of it in the same 
line, It moved its head 
from side to sicte, and 
I saw the reflection of 

Asked if the creature 
appeared to have scales, 
Dr. Matheson said he 
should judge not. It 
showed a perfectly 
smooth surface. He 
went on to say that it 
was in sight about two 
minutes and then dis- 
appeared. Then it rose 
again three different 
times, at intervals of 
two or three minutes. 
It stood perpendicularly 
out of the water, and 

light from its wet 

seemed to look round, " When it appeared 
the second time/' said Dr. Matheson, "it 
was going from us, and was travelling at a 
great rate. It was going in the direction of 
the northern outlet of the Loch, and we were 
sailing in its wake; I was interested, and 
followed it. From its first to its last appear- 
ance we travelled a mile, and the last time 
we saw it it was about a mile away," 

As to the body of the monster, Dr. 
Matheson said, u I saw no body— only a ripple 
of the water where the line of the body should 
be I should judge, however, that there 
must have been a large base of body to 
support such a neck. It was not a sea- 
serpent, but a much larger and more sub- 
stantial beast — something of the nature of 
a gigantic lizard, I should think. An eel 
could not lift up its body like that, nor 
could a snake," 

As to the possibility of his being the subject 
of an optical illusion, Dr, Matheson said, 
" That is a common theory. But what I saw 
precludes all possibility of such an explanation. 
In the case of an optical illusion, what the 
eye sees becomes attenuated, and thus 
gradually disappears. But in the case of the 
creature I saw, it slowly descended into the 
water ; it reappeared the same way, gradually 
I saw it move its head from side 
to side, and I noticed the 
glistening of the light on 
its smooth, wet skin." 
The doctor added, M In 
the evening at dinner I 
described to somegent te- 
rn en who were present, 
Sir James Farrar amongst 
the number, what I had 
seen* As I said, they 
laughed at the story at 
first, and suggested 
various ways in which I 
might have been de- 
ceived ; but when I 
showed them that none 
of their theories would 
fit the case, they admitted 
that the sea-serpent, or 
sea-monster, could not 
be altogether a myth. J * 



by Google' 

Original from 

Portraits of Celebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

Born 1833. 
^5^ son of Robert Coles Arnold, Esq*, 
married Amelia, only daughter of 
Captain H. B. Hyde. On the 
passing of the Public Works Act 
in 1863, to meet the necessities of the 

>"rtjrn u Phj 

I iiuiitui Hn 

cotton famine, Mr. Arnold was Assistant 
Commissioner, and in that capacity wrote 
u The History of the Cotton Famine "; he 

ACE 31. 
>'jttm a rhoUi h u FttrteHi Alima% Ffonnet. 

AGE 47. 
From a HtuUt. by th* Lt,ml fl n. SUr&Mtopii Co. 

published "From the Levant " in iSfiS. He 
then became the first editor of the Echt\ 
but resigned that post in 1875. He was 
elected to Parliament for Sal ford in 1880, 
and has contributed to the passing of several 
important measures. Sir Arthur is ("hair- 
man of the L.C.C., and in 1885 established 

i$m^ ■■- -^ 

by Google 

Frvma PktOa. ty\ FltB&EKT DAY. 

and was elected President of the Free I,and 
League. He is the author of many im- 
portant works, and was knighted in June of 
this year 

Original from 



ALiK 50. 

FrtHu a Painting. 



EG K.Pj G.C.M.G., G.C.HOrH»tel from 



President ok the French Republic. 


was born in 

Paris on Jan. 
Wms\ 3°* l8 4',and 

began life as 
a journeyman tanner. 
He subsequently rose to 
the position of ship- 
owner in Havre, and in 
1 88 1 presented himself 
as a Parliamentary can- 
didate for the third divi- 
sion of that town, and was 
elected, He was Under 
Secretary of State in 
Gambetta's Cabinet of 
1 88 1 ; he afterwards 
resigned this post, but 
was recalled to it in Mr. 
J ules Ferry 's last Cabi net, 
in September, 1883. 
A f to r h oldi ng se vera 1 

under the 





Dupuy Go- 
vernment, and on Janu- 
ary 17, 1895, he was 
elected President of the 
French Republic* 

ACS 49- 
Froma Photo, by Smile ffettrtfa, I1qit#, RmttTi t and Fart*. 

From a FhotQ. hv Emifc Fonrttn, flatrft^ Rot**n. 



F*vm a FlvtfQ WlJffJ JffGWT!" Aa^Zc, Pari*, 




ACE 13. 
From a Pkate. by Waal <£ (7^* London. 


3 eldest child of Alexander Henry 
Faterson, M.[)., was born near 
Hurton-on-Trcnt, After Dr. Pater- 
son's death the family removed to 
Birmingham, At the beginning of 1867 
Miss Pater son came to reside in I^ondon 
under the care of her aunt, Miss Iiiura 
Herford, who about five years previous had 
practically opened the schools of the Royal 
Academy to women. Miss Pater son herself 
entered the Royal Academy Schools in April, 

Frnm a Fhatti. by Jf. IJ&ntu, Amhlewitlt. 

1867, She afterwards drew on wood for 
several illustrated periodicals. She also 
furnished illustrations to novels running in 

the Comhill Magasin*—* V*x From the 
Madding Crowd" and "Miss Angel" In 
the intervals of drawing on wood she produced 
several water-colour drawings, some being 
exhibited at the Dudley Gallery ; "The Milk- 
maid J> and " Wait for Me " being hung in the 
Royal Academy, 1874. In 1875 she was 
elected an Associate of the Royal Society of 


AtiE s J. 

From a Fkoio. hy E. fflimtep, <inttdfard. 

Painters in Water Colours, and in 1890 to 
the honour of full membership. Among her 
later works are several portraits of Thomas 
Carlyle. Miss Paterson was married in 1874 
to the late Mr. Wm. Allingham, the poet. 

r&ESENT v>\\\ 



By Grant Allen, 

O sit up by the fire and talk 
with me, May, dear. IVe got 
a fancy to tell you a story 
about something that onto 
happened to me. Generally 
speaking, we American women 

to get confidential with you 
somehow. You seem so 

don't want 

English girls, 

official j you kind of shut one up, as if one 

were a con cert i n a. But jot* — you're different 

From the moment I first saw you, I felt like 

telling you almost anything, any way. 

It's just about those jewels of mine. Your 
Poppa was talking of them, When he asked 
me at dinner whether I wasn't afraid of ever 
having them stolen, and I answered, " Oh, 

my, no, you 

looked across at me quite 
curious. And I know I blushed. And you 
wondered what I did it for. Well, that made 
me want, somehow, to make a clean breast 
of it and tell you all about my burglar. 

It was when I was staying in the country 
with Lady Cowperthwaite. Her husband 
was in the Indian General way, I fancy; or 
perhaps he was one of your Colonial 
Governors; I never can remember what 
each particular person in your country gets 
knighted for. Anyway, I^ady Cowperthwaite 
is one of those folks who advertise in the 
Times: * 4 A lady of title, moving 


highest circles, would receive into her house 
an American lady of good social position, as 
a Paying Guest References given and re- 
quired. Address, m strict confidence, Lady 
C., Jones's Governess Agency, 999, Piccadilly, 
W«" That's the sort of thing, you know. 
She charges you fifteen guineas a week for 
your board, and introduces you fur the change 
to English society. 

Well, I was fresh from California then, and 
everybody in England had heard that Poppa 
was the richest man in the southern section of 
the State, so I was soon pretty popular. In 
short, my dear, 1 was the fact of the season. 
Everybody talked of me, but especially of my 
diamonds. If I'd cared to let them, more 
than one of your peers would have married 
those diamonds. Elder sons were nuts upon 
them. But I'm Californian, don't you see, 
and I suppose you English girls would call 
me romantic ; any way, I didn't feel to want 
a blessed one of those peers ; I had a sort of 
notion the peers were more dead stuck on the 
diamonds themselves than on the girl that 
wore them, That put me off", of course ; for 
an American woman likes to be taken for 
herself, not for her real estate or her family 

At the end of the season, when London 
began to thin, Lady -Cowperthwaite Observed 




we must do the right thing, and pay a round 
of visits at country houses. Well, I wanted 
to do the right thing while 1 was about it, 
of course— I was paying my money for it; so 
I let Lady Cowperthwaite walk me off 
like a lamb, wherever she'd a mind to. That 
suited Lady Cowperthwaite down to the 
ground, you must know: because, with me 
and my diamonds in tow, she got invited 
everywhere j and, as I handed her over her 
fifteen guineas a week, in town or country, 
board or visit, why, she was pretty pleased, 
you may be sure, to trundle me off 
to her fine acquaintances* She was glad I 
hadn't taken a fancy, my first season, to any 
of her marquises; it was a mutual conveni- 
ence. It suited me to pay her fifteen guineas 
a week for chaperoning me about through 
the English aristocracy, and it suited her to 
pocket fifteen guineas a week for being asked 
to houses she'd never have entered but for 
the American heiress and her diamond neck- 
lace. I tell you there - were no flies on 
Lady Cowperthwaite, 

About the third visit we paid was to a 
country house down in the hills in Hamp- 
shire, They had laid on a courtesy lord 
specially on my account* a 
duke's youngest son, with an 
eye to the diamonds. For 
the first three days I felt 
rather bored. Everybody 
about the place seemed so 
painfully conscious that 
Poppa was the biggest 
holder of Sacramento 
Southerns in the State of 
California. And it was dull 
—oh, dull— my dear, you 
know your aristocratic 
fellow-countrywomen ! But 
the third night an incident 
occurred that lightened the 
gloom a bit. I had an 
interesting episode with a 
real live man ; a romantic 
episode, like a bit out of a 

At dinner that night I 
wore my famous diamond 
necklet. The courtesy lord 
took me in ; he eyed it 
hungrily. But he wasn't 
amusing. About eleven 
o'clock we all went to bed - 
the women, that is to say, for 
the men stopped up, the same 
as usual, saying ugly things 
about us to one another in 

Vat. x.— 23. 

the billiard-room. (Oh, don't talk to mt, my 
dear: I know the ways of them.) I went 
to my own room, and sent away my maid, 
as soon as she'd taken down my hair I 
never was accustomed to maids, of course, 
before Poppa struck silver, and IVe got 
no use for them. Then I began to undress, 
and took off my necklet, which I laid on 
the dressing-table, I meant to put it in the 
jewel-case j but I was lazy, I presume, for any 
way I didn't Then I took off a few things, 
and looked about for my dressing-gown. It 
wasn't on the chair, so I went to the ward- 
robe. I was just going to unhook it, when, 
to my great surprise, something moved quickly 
away in the bureau, and hid itself behind 
one of my best evening dresses, At first I 
thought it was a rat, and was just going to 
scream ; then I felt conscious it was white 
and warm, like a human hand ; and feeling 
sure it was only a man after all, I didn't 
scream, but just pulled back the dress and 
looked at it 

My dear, it was a man ; and he was 
standing there, skulking* I ought to have 
been frightened, I suppose ; but, somehow, 
I wasn't, not to speak of, that is to say. I 

l^flW rWTO m 


i 7 8 


just stood a second and looked at him. He 
looked back at me, such a look ! Rather 
curious and inquiring than angry or 
frightened. Then all at once it came over me 
that I was half undressed, and the man was 
staring at me. I blushed till I could feel 
my face and neck like fire. The man 
seemed to know what I was thinking — he 
couldn't well help it, seeing I had turned as 
red as a turkey-gobbler; and without one 
word, he unhooked my dressing-gown, and 
flung it carefully round me. He flung it like 
a gentleman accustomed to offering ladies 
their wraps at a dance or theatre. " Thank 
you," I said, smiling at him, and feeling real 
grateful, though, of course, very red still, at 
the thought that a man should have caught 
me so lightly robed in my own bedroom. 
" Do please excuse me ! " 

" Not at all," he answered, stepping out, 
and facing me. "It's /who should apologize 
for so unwarrantable an intrusion." 

He looked like a gentleman. " Well," I 
said, "what you are here for, any way?" 

" Don't be alarmed," he replied, staring 
hard at me once tnore as I drew the dressing- 
gown carefully round me. " I have no right 
to be here. I'm sorry to have frightened you. 
I shafl withdraw at once, quite quietly, if 
you'll allow me to do so. I'll leave the house 
this instant." 

He took a step towards the door. I placed 
myself in front of him. " No, no," I said, 
"not that way. And not at all till you've 
explained yourself." 

He eyed me most oddly. " You compel 
me to explain ? " he asked. 

I nodded my head. " Why, certainly ; I 
compel you." 

" I was after your diamonds," he answered, 
seeming to confront me, half defiantly. 

"So is every other man I ever meet in 
England," I answered, laughing. " I thought, 
for once, you were something original." 

He smiled a curious smile. "You mis- 
understand me," he put in. " It was the dia- 
monds alone I came for, not you with them." 

"That's not very polite," I said. "Most 
people are more courteous. They're ready 
to take them with all the encumbrances." 

" But I hadn't seen you then, Miss 
Flanagan," he replied, looking amused. 

" Excuse me," I went on, " but how do 
you know my name? " 

"I heard you were here, and I came to 
find you." 

" Do you mean you are a burglar ? " 

" Not a professional," he answered ; " but 
an amateur — yes. For this occasion only." 

" Well, give me England for culture ! " said 
I. " This does beat everything ! I never 
thought I could stand and talk quietly like 
this with a man who was a housebreaker. 
You do things in style over here ! I took 
you for a gentleman." 

" So I am, I hope," he answered, stammer- 
ing and growing hot. " At least, I have been 
hitherto. But to-night I was making a fresh 
start as a criminal." 

I looked him up and down. I'd got over 
my terror by now, and was really enjoying 
the humour of the situation. I suppose an 
English girl would have been frightened — 
too frightened to speak ; but my Irish blood 
and my Californian training made me see after 
a minute only the comic side of it He was 
evidently a gentleman — most likely an officer. 
I longed to know what had brought him round 
to my room that night ; but I felt, of course, 
the situation was too compromising. People 
might hear us talking and misunderstand the 
circumstances. " You'd better go now, then," 
I said, putting back my necklace in its place 
in the jewel-box. " If people were to hear 
you " 

He dropped his voice still lower. " Thank 
you," he answered, with a suppressed tremor; 
"how very, very good you are. Then you 
will let me go ? You won't rouse the house 
upon me ? " 

" Rouse the house ! " I cried. " And let 
everybody know a man's been in the room 
with me ! Why, what do you take me for ? " 

He looked at me harder still. "Oh, 
thank you," he said, again. " How can I 
ever repay you ? " And he moved towards 
the door, with an uneasy movement. 

I stopped him distantly. " Not that way," 
I said. "As you came. Go out by the 

" How do you know I came by the 
window ? " he said, pausing. 

" Because the fastener's twisted," I 
answered. " I noticed that even before I 
saw you." I held out my hand. "Good- 
night," I said, " Mr. Burglar. I'm very much 
obliged to you ; you've behaved like a gentle- 

He took my hand hurriedly. " How 
strange you are ! " he said, " and how brave ! 
Not in the least like an Englishwoman." 

He pressed it slightly for a second. Then 
he turned to the window. " I must go, then," 
he went on. " It was wrong of me to stay, but 
I couldn't help it. I wanted to reassure 

He threw up the sasu, and was just going 
to juiripl^t&fc-IJrS '-i& MtkHlftai; roof outside. 




" Stop, stop ! " I cried, holding out my jewel- 
box, " you've forgotten the diamonds ! " 

My dear, you never saw a man so astonished 
in your life. He came back like a lamb, 
11 Miss Flanagan/' he cried, blushing just as 
red as I'd blushed myself, "what do you 
mean by this generosity? Or is it that you 
want to rouse the house, and let them catch 
me with the jewels ? M 

It was my turn to blush, "Well, if you 

" Wanted them ? Oh, yes ; I wanted theni t 
desperately," he cried "But, take them— 
how could I ? And you've behaved sc 
wonderfully, so bravely, so generously." 

M 1 guess you'll have to tell me now why 
you wanted them so badly, then," I said 
" Men don't generally require diamond neck- 
lets for themselves. And as the night's 
rather cold, I think I'll just trouble you to 
shutdown that window," 


think I could behave as mean as that— — - 1 ' I 
said, quite hurt. 

He seized my hand, took the jewel-box out 
of it, and — laid it back on the dressing- 

"Forgive me," he said, very low, but 
earnestly, " You didn't deserve it I admit 
you didn't But do you really mean to say 
you thought I was to take them ?" 

"You came after them, you say?" I 

"Oh, yes; I came after them," . 

"Well, naturally, then, 1 thought you 
wanted them. A gentleman doesn't try to 
rob a woman's jewel-box unltrss he's in straits 
— and I see you're a gentleman," 

He shut it like a lamb. I dropped in an 
easy chair, and motioned him to another 

"Well, this U the oddest position," he 

I nodded and smiled. "That's just what 
I like about it," I answered, " That gives it 
its beauty. In a world where it's so hard to 
raise a sensation, there's something quite 
original and novel, don't you think, in enter- 
taining the man who's come to your rooms to 
steal your jewels." 

He paused a moment and reflected. I 
fancy I seemed to surprise him. "Well, this 



has turned out quite differently from anything 
I expected." 

44 What did you expect, then ? " 

"Why, I hoped to get your jewels and 
make off with them undisturbed. But your 
maid most fortunately came in and prevented 
me. So I had only just time to hide in the 
wardrobe. There I stopped till you came. 
And you know the rest of it. What a lucky 
escape ! And I might have taken them I " 

" Excuse me," I put in. " I don't want 
to pry into anybody else's business ; but 
might I ask the reason that made you take 
this rather unusual step? You'll admit it 
isn't quite in the ordinary course to enter a 
lady's room to abstract her diamonds." 

" Miss Flanagan," he cried, " you're the 
most extraordinary woman I ever met. I do 
admire you ! " 

"Oh, that's nothing," I answered. "I'm 
accustomed to being thought extraordinary 
in England. It's my rd/e, don't you know, 
and I'm used to playing it" 

"So it seems," he replied, looking at me 
quite curiously. 

"But why did you want to take my 
diamonds ? " I asked, again. " You'll pardon 
me for my national habit of sticking close to 
my question." 

" Why did I want them ? " he repeated, 
drawing his hand across his forehead. " Oh, 
Miss Flanagan, why did I want them ? 
Can't you guess? Can't you think? Are 
you so rich yourself that it never even occurs 
to you that others may be poor — in difficulties, 
desperate ? " 

"Oh, .my," I said, staring at him; "you 
don't look as if you were poor. You've the 
dress and manners and voice of a gentle- 

" I was one, I hope — till to-night," he 
replied, with that repressed little tremor 
again. " But doesn't it ever occur to you 
that even a gentleman may be in difficulties 
— in terrible straits, where he's ready to do 
anything, almost anything, for money?" 

I rose from my seat and moved over again 
to the dressing-table. "Take them," I said. 
" Take them." And I handed him the 
necklet. "You've struck it rich this time. 
They're real fine, those diamonds. But 
they'll be more use to you, I reckon, than 
ever they've been to me. I tell you, my 
Poppa can buy me some better ones." 

My dear, you won't believe it, but the tears 
fairly started into that burglar's eyes. He 
waved my hand away and stood there like a 
schoolboy. For a minute, I thought he was 
going to come forward and kiss me. But he 

didn't ; he only wrung my hand very hard. 
" Miss Flanagan," he said, " I didn't know 
there was such kindness and generosity on 
earth before. You— you've unmanned me — 
unnerved me. Or, rather, you've made a 
new man of me." 

" How so ? " I asked, trying to look as 
modest and retiring as I could, since the 
circumstances demanded it. 

" I'll never touch those confounded cards 
again," he cried, suddenly, clasping his hands. 
"As long as I live, I'll never again touch 
them ! " 

" Oh, it was gambling," I said, " was it ? " 
— beginning to understand, and to grow quite 
sympathetic. For in California, you know, 
dear, all our men are born gamblers ; they go 
it on anything, from poker to a bonanza ; and 
I suppose my Poppa made his pile in his day 
pretty much like the rest of them. 

He looked at me, red in the face. I 
could see he was much moved. "Yes, it 
was gambling," he said, slowly, " but for the 
very last time. I see now where it leads 
one. I was desperate — desperate ; my last 
hope gone. I was ready for anything. I 
didn't know where to turn for hope or 
comfort. Oh, I can't bear to think to what 
wild crimes I was being driven ! I had 
almost lost all self-respect. You have brought 
me back to it." 

My fingers twitched. I couldn't bear to 
see him grieved so. " Look here," I said ; 
"you'd better take them, they'd set things all 
straight I guess you've as good a right to 
them as I have, any way. My Poppa made 
his pile out of gambling in silver mines. And 
they tell me there are folks in California to- 
day who are beggars just because my Poppa's 
rich; one man can't make a dollar, my 
Poppa always says, without another mans 
losing it He bought me these diamonds 
out of money he'd taken indirectly from 
others ; you were going to take them directly 
again from me. Tweedledum and tweedle- 
dee ! Come to -think of it, after all, there 
ain't so much difference." 

He shook his head firmly. My dear, he 
was handsome ! 

" No, no," he answered, " I won't allow 
you to take me in with your generous 
sophisms. An hour ago I'd have stolen 
those diamonds, I confess, and got clean off 
with them if I could ; now, you make me 
wonder how I could ever have been such a 
vile, wicked blackguard." 

" Most likely," I answered, "when it came 
to the pinch, you wouldn't have taken them 
at all. You'ie not that scut You'd have 



been struck with remorse, and crept out 
again quietly," 

" How good you are !" he cried, tears in 
his eyes once more. "Charity thinketh no 
evil Well, you've taught me a lesson, and I 

mean to remember it. Henceforth -" and 

he rose as if he meant to leave ine. 

" YouVe not going?" I said, quite anxiously, 
forgetting my costume ; for he was so nice 
— the nicest man, my dear, I'd met t since 1 
came across to England. 

" Yes, I'm going/ 5 he answered, in a fixed 
sort of way. "I ought to have gone half an 
hour ago. For your sake, it would be wicked 
of me to remain any longer. Just consider 
how compromising if anyone were to find me 
here ! ■ 

il That's true," I answered, holding out my 
liand; "though Fve enjoyed my talk with 
you. But we may meet again* We must 
arrange this matter. You 11 give me your 
card and let me see you, won't you? 1 ' 

He drew back quite ashamed, Then he 
hid his face in his hands and broke down 

" What ! after this ? " he exclaimed. " Oh, 
no ; never, never ! " 

" I have deserved it," I said, half reproach- 

" Yes, yes," he replied ; "you have indeed 

deserved it. But myself—oh, how could I 

hold my head up again, I ask you, if I knew 

anyone could sav 1 had done such a thing as 


1 HK B KO K £ DOW N V TTF r H LV, ' 

I grasped his hand for a moment. " Well, 
let us leave it then,' 3 I answered- * l Don't 
fancy I want to pry into the question of your 
ruirne, if you don't wish to give it Though 
I had hoped — — " and then 1 broke off, for 
I really didn't know what I might be tempted 
to say to him. 

He walked towards the window again. I 
held my hand up, "No, not that way, this 
lime!" I cried. "Suppose anyone were to 
see you trying to get out there ? They'd 
think you were a burglar." 
" So I am/' he said, bitterly. 
il No, no/' I answered, " You're here as 
my visitor. Y T ou must let me let you out by 
the front door quite properly." 

"I can't," he cried, trembling. "That 
would be wrong, very wrong. If anybody 
met us, it would give rise to most unjust, 
most cruel suspicions about your conduct, 
which you don't deserve. I'd ten thousand 
times rather be taken and punished as a 
burglar to-night, than expose any woman as 
good as you to such wicked and unworthy 

And he raised up the window-sash. 
"Well, you are good," I snid. " I suppose 
you must do it so. But remember, if ever 
you change your mind, and are willing to 
let me know your name and address, I shall 
be so glad to see you," 

"Thank you," he answered: and then he 
stooped down and kissed my haiuL My dear, I 
suppose I oughtn't to say so ; but I was quite 

in love with him 
by that time. He 
behaved so nicely. 
Well, he put his 
foot on the win- 
dow-sill. " Good- 
bye," he said, 
once more* with a 
strange sort of 
choke deep down 
in his voice- " I 
thank you from 
my heart You 
have behaved 
most nobly to 

I took up the 
diamonds one last 
time. "Oh, do 
take them ! " I 
said, imploring 
him. " Remem- 
ber, you'll be just 
i£ m as desperate as 
ever by -and -by, 




You have still your debts to pay. Why 
shouldn't you take them ? You need them 
ten thousand times more than I do." 

He looked back at me, all remorse. I 
assure you, May, the tears were just rolling 
down his cheeks. " Never, my dear brave 
young lady," he answered, solemnly. " But 
you have saved a man's soul. Let that be 
something to you." 

Then he jumped and disappeared. I 
leaned out and looked after him. I won't 
deny, I felt real bad that minute. To think 
the poor fellow should be in such dreadful 
trouble ! 

Well, weeks and weeks passed. And the 
longer time went on, the more and more I 
thought of my burglar. He was the only 
person who seemed to interest me. I liked 
that man ; I did want to see him. I thought 
he'd behaved so nicely and manfully. As to 
his trying to be a burglar, well, that, you 
know, doesn't count for much on the Pacific 
slope, where there's been a lot of rough-and- 
tumble sort of work in the Pikes : most of 
our millionaires have a sin or two to answer 
for. My Poppa didn't build a Franciscan 
church at Sant' Antonio for nothing, I 
reckon. So I went on and on, going 
out in London, and hoping some day I'd 
meet my burglar. They brought up young 
men to me, on the diamond hunt, don't you 
know — courtesy lords and such folks, who 
had heard I was an heiress, and wanted to 
try their luck in the game. But I didn't 
care to look at them. They were nothing 
compared to him. He was a man ! My 
dear, as time went on, I just knew I was in 
love with him. 

I idealized him, I suppose — what's a 
woman for, if not to idealize whatever she 
loves ? — but I did want to see him. 

At last, one evening, a year or two later, I 
was out at Lady Arcady's. A lady sat near 
me, rather young and pretty, a typical 
Englishwoman — the sort that's born to be a 
good wife and mother. I didn't notice her 
much ; I only observed she was good and 
comely. Presently Lady Arcady came up to 
me where I sat, and began to talk to me. 

" So glad you could come, dear Miss 
Flanagan," she said, " for I want to introduce 
you to my friend, Lord Alfred MacdougalL" 
(" Another of them," thought I ; " bring him on 
and get it over ! ") " He knew your father, 
he says, when he was out in California." 

Before T could take good stock of the 
watery -looking young man in the background, 
however, the wife and mother turned round 
and stared hard at me. 

"Is that Miss Flanagan, of California?" 
she asked, half-aside, of Lady Arcady. " Oh, 
then, I must be introduced to her." 

Lady Arcady waved aside Lord Alfred for 
a minute. " Mrs. Mainwaring," she said, 
introducing her (that wasn't the name, but 
it'll do just as well as any other) — " Miss 
Flanagan, of Sacramento." 

Mrs. Mainwaring drew me aside. "I felt 
I must know you," she said. " I owe you so 
many thanks. You've done me such a 
service. You mayn't know it yourself, but 
you've saved my husband's soul for him, as 
he often tells me. I don't quite understand 
how, but he's been a different man ever since 
he met you." 

For a minute I couldn't think what the 
good lady was driving at. "Saved his soul ?" 
I repeated. " Oh, my, that's not much in my 
line, I'm afraid. Though, of course, there 
are ways of saving and saving ! " 

" That's just what my husband says," the 
lady answered. " You must recollect him. He 
met you two years ago, when you were down 
in Hampshire; and ever since he's been 
another man. Not that he wasn't always the 
dearest and best fellow on earth, except for 
one bad habit ; but from that day forth, he 
has never touched a card ; and whenever I 
speak of it, he always says, l If I'm a better 
man now, you and the boys have only that 
American angel to thank for it.' " 

My dear, I almost broke down. It had 
never even occurred to me for one moment 
as possible. A married man ! A husband 
and father ! In my horror and disappoint- 
ment, I could hardly restrain myself from 
exclaiming, " What, not my burglar ! " 

She followed my eyes with hers, as I 
glanced round the room. Yes, there he 
stood by the piano, as handsome as ever. 
My heart went out to him. 

His wife brought him over. " See, Harry, n 
she said, " who I've found." 

He gave a sudden start. Then he gazed 
at me steadily. My eyes met his. I felt 
faint with my misery. 

"Miss Flanagan," he murmured, very low, 
" thank you." 

He said nothing else, but just stood look- 
ing at me. 

" I've told her what you say, Harry," the 
little wife went on, never noticing our em- 
barrassment, thank goodness. " And though 
I can't imagine what it was you said to him, 
I shall be grateful to you, Miss Flanagan, 
as long as I live, for what you've done 
for us." 

she wBBiiYiBf mmteima ^ white 



talking j then she moved away. I had one precious hard work; but. thank Heaven, I'm 

minute alone with him. doing it. And once they're paid, I shall 

" You were kind to me on^e," he began ; never have another one." 
u how kind I don't believe you realize your- H If only you would allow me to lend you 

self. Will you be kind once more, and for- a few thousands " I began. 

get my name— or else that episode ? J5 He waved his hand and checked me> 



I raised my eyes. ts It is forgotten," I 
said, slowly, Oh, dear, he didn't know how 
hard u thing it was for me to .say it. 

" Thank you,' 1 he answered, again. "From 
that day forth, I have never touched a card. 
I had come from a brother officer's rooms, a 
ruined man. If you hadn't saved me, I 
don't know what might have become of 

** And your debts ? " I asked, trembling* 

" I'm paying them off piecemeal. It's 

hurriedly. "Not for worlds," he answered. 
"You taught me a better way, I have begun 
life afresh. The discipline of saving and 
paying is good for me," 

I never saw him again. My dear, I 
couldn't bear it. But they may bring up 
their courtesy lords by the gross now, if they 
like. I have made up my mind I shall die 
Nor ah Flanagan, 

So that's why I turned red at your Poppas 

by Google 

Original from 

^HBf l^^fe Jtf 'U58 KJ.*t^ 

[St weSI^ |l§|| 


' J^^- "■' 

f *"■"■■ : it 1 !-'"- 1 

WAS permitted the pleasant 
opportunity to describe and 
illustrate in The Strand 
Magazine for March, 1895, 
under the heading i% Eccentric 
Ideas," some peculiar notions 
of mankind. Although I then exemplified 
that much inventiveness appertained to 
humanity, I was careful to point out the 
considerable difference existing between an 
"idea" and an "invention" in the true 
meanings of those words. I then dilated 
upon some very novel suggestions, and 
referred to their ludicrousness and impractic- 
ability. Now I propose to occupy the reader's 
time and patience by parading before him 
the particulars of several really novel ideas 
which have developed into actual inventions. 
In my selection I have made as great a 
variety as possible, and am satisfied that, in 
nearly every case, the articles must have been 
as efficient in practice as they are ingenious 
in conception. 

The simple yet effective contrivance 
depicted in No. 1, which is an invention 
by a private conjurer, deserves a greater 
publicity than it has hitherto secured. 


Of course, just as a joke will lose its 
essential qualities when explained, so a trick 
or illusion may appear to have been less 
interesting when a detailed account of its 
inner working is provided. But I can assure 
the reader that the deception, aided by this 
invention, was, and would still be, very 
startling, notwithstanding the simplicity of 
the means employed to deceive. 

The conjurer drew a large cloth off an 
easel, upon which was reclining a good oil- 
painting set in a massive gilt frame. He 
lifted the top of the frame forward to the 
extent of a few inches, and also passed a 
long stick behind the easel in order to 
show that it bore no connection with 
other parts of the stage. He then re- 
covered it with the cloth, which he 
almost instantly again removed, revealing 
quite a different picture in the frame. 
This performance he repeated until he had 
changed the pictures three times, thus 
showing four different paintings in the same 
frame without having removed the latter from 
the easel. 

Every few moments he passed the stick 
behind the picture, and also showed 
that the covering -cloth contained 
nothing whereby aid was offered 
in the deception. As may have 
already occurred to the reader who 
has examined the illustrations, the 
picture consisted of a pivoted board 
having a drop flap affixed to it in 
front, and one attached behind, on 
the surfaces of which were painted 
four distinct subjects. The first 
time the cloth was replaced, a 
spring was touched, and, conse- 
quently, a flap fell as in the right- 
hand frame ; at the second stage in 
the performance the whole picture 
revolved, as in the left-hand frame; 
whilst upon the third repetition 
being made, onother flap fell. 

What made the trick the more 
surprising was the fact that the 

\tiffltt ONW0tto«tt"« in width 



than the space between the legs of the 
easel, and also that the top of the frame 
was also lifted forward, conveying the wrong 
idea that the front supports continued com- 
pletely from top to bottom behind the 
frame. The truth was that the easel's front 
legs broke off just below the top of the 
frame, and just above the bottom of it, the 
two parts being connected by a frame of 
iron, which allowed sufficient opening 
wherein the picture could revolve. 
Of course, it would never do, if this 
deception is henceforth repeated, to shift 
the frame forward if any portion of the 
audience should command a view from 
an elevation above the top of the 
picture, I suggest that some enterprising 
amateur conjurer may profitably adopt 
this contrivance, as well as another, 
hereafter explained, and call it "The 
Strand Magazine Picture Trick," 
having an enlarged copy of the cover for 
the first picture shown. 

ings* In the first, the horse is shown as 
having been strapped to the table-top, 
which has been placed perpendicularly 
for the purpose. By simply turning one 
or more handles, the table-top is turned to a 
horizontal position, and finally slid into its 
proper place, as in the following drawing. 

no. 3. 


tfCJ« »- — QFfckATlNC-TAfeLL FUR A HuHSli — PHLPAklNL., 

Notwithstanding the easy control that 
man has been enabled, by a proper exer- 
cise of his superior mental qualities, to 
effect over horses, I fear that very few 
men could achieve the conspicuously 
difficult manoeuvre of handling a sick 
horse as he would a sick human being. 
To lift a horse on to a table, for instance, 
would prove an embarrassing, if not totally 
impossible, task if the process were un- 
dertaken without the aid of some kind 
of mechanism- The ingenuity of man 
has, however, obviated the depressing 
necessity for handling horses and cattle 
in this manner^ as may be seen by a 
reference to my second and third draw- 

VoL *.-24 

An advertising invention, which had a 
decidedly pleasing effect upon those who 
observed it, is illustrated in my next 
drawing. Everyone must be aware of 
the fact that if a length of paper or card 
be rolled up, it is possible, by withdraw- 
ing the inner end of the roll, to extend 
it to the form of a long coil, such as 
appears at each corner as a support to 
the box, in the right-hnnd part of my 
illustration. It is possible, also, to re- 
close such a coil to its original shape. 
The device shown has a thin metal rod 
running right from the bottom of the 
box, down within each coil, and those 
rods are connected with a small tank 
beneath the flooring, the tank being 
supported upon very long chair-springs. 
A fifth rod, at the back, and not con- 



nected to the tank, has its upper end united 
to the back edge of the ltd (of course, it 
is not a proper lid), and stands thus quite 
rigid. Upon allowing water to run through 
a pipe ending above the hidden tank, the 
water received in it gradually increases 
its weight, and hears it downwards. The 
consequence is that the four rods and 
box are lowered automatically, and a set of 
hinged boards, one of which is that united 
to the rigid back rod, are gradually revealed 
to view. Of C0urse } they are hitherto lying 
quite flat in the box, but cannot follow it 

The merit of some of the articles dealt 
with in this paper is that although they are, 
I hope, interesting to the general reader - 
they are yet capable of being utilized by some 
of those persons who may be on the look- 
out for something not too widely known* 

Cats and dogs and horses are not the only 
creatures possessing reasoning powers. As a 
matter of fact, an apparently dull form of life, 
fish to wit, have been trained in a manner 
which should leave no doubt concerning 
their latent discrimination, I have heard 
of more than one instance in which the 
bright and familiar gold-fish has had its 
mild intelligence so developed as to in- 
duce it to ring a bell when it needed some 
trifling luxury. That which I consider to be 
the best innovation contrived for this purpose 
is illustrated in my next drawing, Three 
bells were properly balanced upon a rod, as 
shown, and cords, which just contacted with 
the water, hung from them. By placing an 
insect, or some equally tempting morsel of 
food, lightly on the lower end of the string, 
a fish will naturally grab it. Care must, of 
course, be exercised in order to prevent 
the string as well from being swallowed. 
The moment the insect is seized by 
the fish, the bell tinkles, and the fish 
associates the sound with the meal — a result 
which seems to contradict 
the common statement 
that fish h.ive no sense 
of hearing- By adhering 
to this tuition for some 
time, the fish will become 
accustomed to hear the 
bell ring as every wel- 
come tit -bit is secured, 
and will eventually, on 
occasions when no such 
trifle has been placed on 
the string, still tug at 'it, 
and produce the familiar 
sounds. Then will be 

the time for impregnating the mind of the 
fish with the necessity of pulling the string 
whenever it desires food. Place the insect in 
the water, apart from the string. Probably 
the next time it hungers for luxuries, it will 
again pull the string. Of course, should the 
fish become dilatory in this respect, the 
original process of attaching the insect to it 
must be resumed ; but it has transpired that 
when once the ring has been responded to 
promptly, it has been continued. This is a 
far less objectionable way of rendering ah 
aquarium interesting than by inserting 
electric lights within the interior of the fish, 
and making them transparent. I am 
determined to experiment personally in this 
undoubtedly patience-trying business, for I 
am convinced that not only instinct, but 
reason, guides the fish in its performance. 


Here conies a description of the trick to 
which I referred when writing just now con- 
cerning the transformation picture. An 
opaque glass bottle is filled with water in the 
direct view of the spectators ; yet when it is 
reversed, without having been corked, it still 
re ta i n s i t s co n t e 11 ts. T h e acco mpan y i ng d ra w - 
ing (a sectional sketch) 
explains the simple con- 
trivance used. In the 
first half of the illustra- 
tion a funnel is shown in- 
serted in the bottle. It 
has pushed downwards a 
valve, hinged on a spring, 
and situated at the bottom 
of the neck. The short 
black line indicates it 
After the bottle has beeri 
failed, and the funnel 
withdrawn, the valve 
wards, and, 





consequently, prevents the 
water from returning when 
the bottle has been reversed. 
In order to show that water 
is actually within the bottle, 
it is only necessary to in- 
sert a bent tube, as shown 
in the right-hand half of the 
drawing, and give a preli- 
minary suck at its lower 
end, when all the contents 
will be withdrawn, 

I turn to a clever con- 
trivance, shown in my next 
drawing, invented by a man 
as a rather peculiar surprise 
for a friend. He made that 
friend a present of some 
coloured wax candles, one 
t of which contained the 
affair shown. The receiver 
was very fond of having 
a few candles of the coloured kind placed 
about his drawing-room, in candelabra, 
and was intensely surprised one night 
when one of those which he had thank- 
fully accepted from his friend exploded with 
a loud w bang," after having burnt down 
about half- way j and revealed to view a 
miniature ghost, with outstretched arms, 
which had issued from the remaining portion 
of the candle. To say that the man was 
puzzled by so extraordinary an apparition 
is to incompletely describe his feelings, 
I wonder how the reader would accept such a 
crisis. I know that I should 
have been very muck as- 
tonished. Yet the effect was 
produced in an exceedingly 
simple manner, as can be 
understood by examining the 
drawings. The lower half 
of the candle really consisted 
of a thin cardboard case, con- 
taining a spring and a small 
" ghost M with spring - arms, 
which would fly apart im- 
mediately upon being re- 
leased from their bondage. 
A small portion of gun- 
powder, separated by a disc 
of paper from the head of 
the "ghost t " completed the 
apparatus. The outside of 
the cylinder was waxed to 
appear as but the continua- 
tion of the candle. When the 
flame burnt to the powder it 
naturally caused it to explode, 


W : 




and simultaneously with the 
discharge the spring forced 
the little image upwards. 
This device would make an 
effective toy, I am inclined 
to think, as the cylinder 
could be used as often as 
required, by fixing a half- 
candle properly to the top 
of it and concealing the 

Of curious clocks so 
much has been said at 
various times that I felt 
inclined to omit the next 
illustration ; but perhaps it 
may interest some readers, 
and for that reason I crave 
for it a place of honour 
in these columns, A small 
circular box, partitioned into 
several compartments, was 
suspended by two strings to an ordinary 
frame, backed by a wood panel The hours 
were indicated along one side of the frame 
The interior divisions took a similar form to 
those used in water wheels, and in each, 
at alternate ends of those divisions, was a 
very small hole. Water was sealed up in 
one compartment, and would be uppermost 
when the drum was at the top of the 
panel. It would slowly trickle into the nest 
compartment below it, in front, and, on 
account of the leverage exerted by its weight, 
the drum would gradually revolve downwards. 
It was rewound to the top 
when another journey was 
necessitated. There is a very 
similar invention in the South 
Kensington Museum, I be- 
lieve. I am given to under- 
stand that at a very remote 
date they were comparatively 
popular. What a primitive 
method when compared with 
the elaborate forms of 
mechanism now employed to 
denote time ! 

I believe that the custom of 
utilizing dogs for the purpose 
of turning spits, and thereby 
roasting huge joints of meat or 
game, is now an obsolete one; 
but the practice of applying 
the services of a donkey to 
the kind of work conveyed in 
my next drawing is, I believe, 
still in vogue at Carishrooke 

^milter of wisht 



The forbearing animal is inserted within a 
huge wheel having a suitable footway, and 
his attempted progress, instead of carrying 
him forwardj has the tantalizing effect (to him, 
no doubt) of merely causing the wheel to re- 
volve. The wheel is connected to an im- 
mense crank, around which winds a rope 


bearing a bucket, which dips into the water 
contained in a well 200ft. deep and 12ft. across 
its mouth. An interesting fact in connection 
with this well is that when a pin is allowed 
to fall upon the surface of the water, which 
is at a distance of about 180ft. from the top 
of the well, the sound caused by its contact 
is distinctly audible. 

I will now give the reader an idea of 
what two devices, which still stand in some 
gaols, are like, although I must point out 
that the punishment itself has long been 
discontinued. The crank, No. io, was an 
article devised to weary the limbs of the 
fellow sentenced to undergo its treatment 
The labour consisted of turning the handle 
several hundreds of times daily, and the 
enormous amount of energy thus exercised 
was absolutely wasted, as no other return 
than the punishment of the criminal was 
secured. A glass-covered dial fitted into 
the iron drum registered the number of 
revolutions, so that there was no available 
way of deceiving the authorities in the 
matter The interior consisted of a large 


amount of unoiled machinery, and the long 
handle testifies to the obnoxious desire of 
the inventor, for it must be apparent that to 
turn so large a handle, the movement must 
have burdened every muscle in a man's 

The capstan, depicted in No. 11 drawing, 
was an equally peculiar device, and it was 
necessary to employ sixteen men in connection 
with it, eight of whom handled the poles whilst 
the remaining half of the number were belted 
to the straps (shown dangling from the poles), 
and occupied a position midway between 
their fellows, The punishment consisted of 
walking round and round the central upright, 
meanwhile pushing and pulling the poles> 




according to the respective tasks of the men. 
In connection with the matter, 1 am much 
indebted to the Chaplain of Oxford Prison 
fot informing me, in a recent reply to a 
query addressed by me, that the object of 
the contrivance was to pump water from 
the adjacent river into tanks situated 
beneath the Anglo-Saxon tower which con- 
tains it, I am also told by him that its use 
was abolished on account of the splendid 
opportunity it afforded prisoners for indulging 
in the forbidden pleasure of talking ; and 
one can well understand that the heavy 
tramp of sixteen men in close proximity to 
each other was capable of drowning the 
sound of a whispered conversation only 
audible to the strained ears of those engaged 
upon the monotonous task of propelling the 

It may be a relief to turn now to more 
cheerful subjects, and, perhaps, by way of 
contrast with the last article enumerated, the 
simplicity of the twelfth device illustrated 
by me may appear more vivid. Certainly it 
was an artful scheme for providing means of 
illumination during the night, notwithstanding 
the fact that )t entailed the use of a large 
number of candlesticks. The sketch is 
almost self-explanatory; but, maybe, a few 
additional words will not prove unnecessary. 
Who the originator of the arrangement 
was, I am unable to say, I have heard it 

imputed to a poet, who desired less 
interruption during his night work, pre- 
ferring, very reasonably, to be able to 
write down his inspirations continuously, 
instead of being frequently called upon by 
necessity to light a fresh candle. Pieces 
of twine were fastened from one candle to 
its nearest fellow, and so on ; and then one 
ignited. When its flame reached the loop 
of twine, the latter naturally caught fire, and 
a tongue of flame would creep up to the 

adjoining candle, lighting it in the manner 
desired. The scheme is a pretty example 
of the brilliancy of simplicity in idea, as 
compared with the complicated arrange- 
ments often devised to secure simple 

I end my present paper with a draw- 
ing of an invention which is calculated 



1J. — AW ALTUaTAHC KI-;i I I.I--I1: II.FK. 

to conjure up the delight experienced 
by indulging in a hearty breakfast at 
the termination of a sound and refreshing 
sleep a very rare blessing, I believe. A few 
years ago there was publicly exhibited an 
invention fulfilling identical purposes to those 
expected from the device I now refer to, 
but which differed from it in that it was 
worked by electricity, whereas the one 
depicted in my thirteenth drawing was 
controlled by a purely automatic action. 
One end of a stiff wire was connected 
to the hammer of the alarum ; and to its 
opposite extremity was attached a receptacle 
for a few matches, which engaged with a 
roughened surface situated immediately in 
contact with a spirit-saturated asbestos tank. 
At whatever hour the clock was timed to 
ring the bell, the violent to-and-fro motion 
of the hammer caused the matches to be 
rubbed against the material prepared for 
them, and consequently they ignited and 
set fire to the spirit, which, in its turn, boiled 
the water contained in the kettle, thus 
rendering great service to the aroused 
owner, who was in a position to make his 
tea, coffee, or cocoa as soon as he had 
dressed himself. 

I find it far more pleasant to speak of 
serviceable outcomes of ingenuity, than by 
dwelling, as I did a few months ago, on 
notoriously nonsensical schemes, 

Original from 

The Ladies of Queen Victorias Court. 

ROM the very earliest times. 
Queens and Princesses, whether 
regnant or consort, have had 
about their persons a select 
n urn her of men and women to 
give them attendance and com- 
panionship. When Her Majesty ascended the 
throne she found the Court in bad repute, but 
she soon made it a model, as regarded dignity 
and purity, for every other Court in the 

Naturally, at the first—the Queen being 
only a few days over eighteen at her 
accession — her Court was mostly chosen for 
her, but at the present day she has, while 
adhering to strictly constitutional conduct, 
selected herself all save those of the highest 
rank, and even amongst these there is less 
change in practice than is in theory required. 
The question of changing her ladies at the 
same time as her Ministers 'gave rise to a 
sensational incident, called at the time " The 
Bedchamber Intrigue." Two years after her 
succession Sir Robert Peel had been sent for 
to form a Ministry in succession to that of 
Lord Melbourne. Sir Robert had an inter- 
view with Her Ma- 
jesty, and thought that 
everything had been 
settled. It was but 
reasonable that the 
great ladies of the 
Whit* Party, who were 
in close and constant 
intercourse with Her 
Majesty, and who 
might be supposed to 
influence her, should 
not be the wives or 
daughters of leading 
members of the Op- 
position, Sir Robert 
Peel therefore con- 
sidered that, when he 
told the Queen that 
all ladies of aid above 
the rank of Lady of 
the Bedchamber 
must resign, he was 
acting in a constitu- 
tional and reasonable 
manner- Th e cha n ge 
which he required 
was, he imagined, a matter of course, and high 
constitutional authorities shared his views. 
Lord Melbourne, however, who had much in- 
fluence with the girl -Queen, advised Her 


From a I'hiyto. b# Jfackittioth A Co., JM*j. 

Majesty to the contrary. It was set about by 
the Melbourne party that Peel wished to 
remove all her ladies and the friends of her 
youth. As a matter of fact, Peel had no 
such desire, while as to "the friends of her 
youth," the ladies thus designated had been 
scarcely known to the Queen before their 
appointments some two years previously. At 
all events, public opinion was on the side of the 
Queen when she wrote to Sir Robert Peel, and 
informed him that she would not consent to 
any changes among her ladies. On this Sir 
Robert Peel abandoned all attempts to form 
a Ministry, and Lord Melbourne remained in 
office. When, in 1841, Lord Melbourne 
again resigned, Prince Albert arranged with 
Peel that only those ladies who were nearly 
related to the leaders of the Whig Party 
should send in their resignations if requested 
to do so by the new Premier. On this footing 
matters have continued ever since, 


who is always a Duchess, is a State officer, 
and attends the Queen on every State occa- 
sion. She enjoys precedence over every lady 

about the Court, and 
when in residence or 
on a visit to Her 
Majesty, presides at 
the Household table. 
She looks over and 
passes the Queen's 
personal bills, i.e.* 
those for dress, toilet 
requisites, bric-a-brac, 
etc,, which are sent 
in to her from the 
Robes Office. 
The Duchess of 

Susanna Stephania, 
Dowager Duchess of 
Ro x burgh e, i s t h e on 1 y 
daughter of the late 
General Sir James 
Charles Dalbiac, 
K.C.H, She married 
in 1836 the sixth 
Duke of Roxburghe, 
who died in 1879. 
In 1865 she was ap- 
pointed a Lady of 
the Bedchamber to the Queen, and in the 
same year a member of the Royal Order of 

* The DucheS^'fiUIUtftl-tliKUil}, died wnct the al^vc w;*s 




Victoria and Albert, and she is at the present 
time acting as Mistress of the Robes* 

The parents of the Duchess were so much 
attached to each other that, during several 
campaigns, Mrs, Dalbiac, herself a soldier's 
daughter, accompanied her husband, then 
commanding the 4th Light Dragoons, On 
one occasion she nearly paid for her conjugal 
devotion with her life. The following ex- 
tract from the journal of Captain Tompkin- 
son, 16th, published in li The Memoirs and 
Correspondence of Field-Marshal Viscount 
Combermere," by the Viscountess Corn bermere 
and Captain W. \V. Knollys, gives an account 
of the incident, which occurred on the night 
before the Battle of Salamanca: ''Dreadful 
thunder an hour after dark. The greatest 
number of the horses of the 5th Dragoon 
Guards ran away over the men sleeping at 
their heads, by which eighteen men in the 
brigade were wounded. . . . By each flash we 
saw the columns of infantry marching to thdr 
ground for the night. Colonel and Mrs. 
Dalbiac, of the 4th Dragoons, were sitting 
down on the ground in 
front of the brigade. 
We had just time to 
carry her under a gun, 
which stopped the 
horses and saved them 

With courage un- 
daunted by this narrow 
escape, Mrs. Dalbiac 
the following afternoon, 
with a heart full of 
dread as to the fate of 
her husband — for the 
cavalry had been hotly 
engaged — wended her 
way over the corpse - 
strewn plain in search 
for him. Napier, in his 
history of the Peninsular 
War, thus writes of 
her : "The wife of 
Colonel Dalbiac, an 
English lady of a gentle 
disposition and possess- 
ing a very delicate frame, 
had braved the dangers 
and endured the privations of two campaigns 
with the patent fortitude which belongs only to 
her sex. In this battle, forgetful of everything 
but that strong affection which had so long 
supported her, she rode deep amidst the 
enemy's fire, trembling yet irresistibly im- 
pelled forward by feelings more imperious than 
horror, more pressing than the fear of death. 13 

From a Photo, by Htth *t Sa u w.ttr#. Ojftwd. 


are always the wives or widows of peers, Only 
one Lady of the Bedchamber is in waiting 
at a time. She is always in readiness to 
attend, when required, Her Majesty in her 
drives, The Lady in Waiting attends all 
State ceremonies, and presides at the House- 
hold table when the Mistress of the Robes is 
not present. 

Thk Dowager Lady Churchill, 

Jane, Dowager T.ady Churchill, is the 
daughter of the second Marquis of 
Conyngham, and gran d-d a lighter of the first 
Marquis, the favourite of George IV. In 
1849 she married the second Baron Churchill, 
D,CL, Prince of the Holy Roman Empire 
— he died in 1886 — who, by the female line, 
was descended from the great Duke of 
Marlborough. The founder of his branch of 
the Spencer family was his father, Lord 
Francis Spencer, youngest son of George, 
third Duke of Marlborough* Lord Francis 
was created Baron Churchill in 181 5, The 
second Baron Churchill 
was in early life in the 
diplomatic sen ice, and 
for many years com- 
mandant of the Oxford- 
shire Yeomanry Cavalry, 
In 1854 I^dy Churchill 
was appointed Lady of 
the Bedchamber to the 
Queen, and has held 
that office ever since. 
She is a member of 
the Third Class of th^ 
Royal Order of Victoria 
and Albert, 

Lady Southampton, 

Ismania Catherine, 
Dowager Lady South- 
ampton, is a daughter 
of Walter Nugent, Esq., 
a Baron of the Austrian 
Empire, This is „a 
branch of the Nugents, 
Earls of Westmeath, 
founded by Lival Nu- 
gent, who, born in 1777, 
went to Austria in 1789. At the age of 
seventeen he entered the Austrian Army, 
So rapid was his rise that in 1809 he was 
made a Major-General Soon after, being 
second Plenipotentiary at a congress preceding 
the marriage of the Archduchess Marie 
Louise withrNft[pf)lflOjn rj he refused to sign 
certain ,VM}4KK)k- WF4t«fi ffD^JJif he Emperor 



of the French* In consequence of this event 
he fell into disgrace^ and proceeded to 
England, where he was admitted into the 
English Army with the rank of Major- 
General, which he ex- 
changed shortly after- 
wards for that of Lieu- 
tenant-General. After 
having been employed 
on certain diplomatic 
missions, he was sent 
on active service ; and, 
in conjunction with 
Admiral Freemantlc, 
drove the French out 
of Illyria and captured 
Trieste, Apparently, in 
1814, he entered the 
service of Naples, for 
in 18 1 5 he aided in the 
defeat of Murat, and 
afterwards became Cap- 
tain - General of the 
Neapolitan Army. In 
1820 he re-entered 
the Austrian Army, 
and was promoted to 
the rank of General in 1S38. In 1848-9 
he served in Hungary, and also in Italy 
under Radetzky, being given the baton of 
Field-Marshal for his achievements. Ten 
years later he took part in the war between 
Austria and France and Italy. He died in 
1862 a Count and Prince of the Holy Roman 
Empire, a Magnate of Hungary of the First 
Class, and a Knight of the Golden Fleece. In 
1862 she — Ismania Nugent — married, as his 
second wife, the third Baron Southampton 
—the first peer was a grandson of the second 
Duke of Grafton who died in 1S72. In 
1878 Lady Southampton was appointed Lady 
of the Bedchamber to the Queen. She is 
in possession of the Royal Order of Victoria 
and Albert, Third Class, 

Lady Ampthill. 

Emily Theresa, Lady Ampthill, is the third 
daughter of the fourth Earl of Clarendon, K.G*, 
well known as an eminent statesman. In 1868 
she married the first Baron Ampthill, G.CB,, 
Ambassador at Berlin from 1871 to tSS4, in 
which year he died. Lord Ampthill was a 
brother of Lord John Russell, afterwards Earl 
Russell, the celebrated statesman. Lord 
Ampthill was raised to the peerage in 1881 for 
his eminent diplomatic services. In 1885 she 
was appointed Lady of the Bedchamber to 
the Queen. She is a member of the Royal 
Order of Victoria and Albert, Third Class. 

Fntm a brawiny by J. Savboda. 

The Countess of Mayo. 

Blanche Julia, Dowager Countess of Mayo, 
is the third daughter of the first Lord Lecon- 
fieldj and widow of the 
sixth Earl of Mayo, 
Governor - General of 
India. lie, when in 
1872 he was visiting the 
convict establishment in 
the Andaman Islands, 
met with his death under 
the following tragic cir- 
cumstances. He had 
finished his inspection, 
and was, in the dusk of 
the evening, returning 
to the boat which was 
to convey him to the 
ship. Suddenly an 
Afghan convict, who had 
managed to conceal 
himself, rushed forward 
and stabbed Lord Mayo 
mortally in the midst of 
his suite. In 1874 she 
was appointed Lady 
of the Bedchamber to Her Majesty. Lady 
Mayo is in possession of Third Class of the 
Royal Order of Victoria and Albert and the 
Imperial Order of the Crown of India* The 





latter Order is only con- 
ferred upon Princesses of 
the Royal House of Eng- 
land, on the wives or female 
relatives of Governors- 
General of India, the 
Governors of Madras and 
Bombay, of the Secretaries 
of State for India, and of 
the Princes of India. 

Viscountess Clifden* 

Eliza Horatia Frederics, 
Viscountess Clifden, is the 
second daughter of the 
late Frederick Charles 
William Seymour, Esq., a 
great-grandson of the first 
Marquis of Hertford* She 
married first, in iS6i, the 
third Viscount Clifden, 
who died in 1866 ; and 
secondly, in 1875, Sir 
Walter George Stirling, w 
father as third baronet 
CI ifden was appointed 
Lady of the Bed- 
chamber to the Queen 
in 1867, and in 1872 
became an Extra 
Lady of the Bed- 
chamber to Her 
Majesty, She is a 
member of the Order 
of Victoria and 
Albert, Her husband, 
Sir Walter Stirling, 
was formerly in th- 
Royal Artillery, in 
which he rose to 
be Captain. In 
1866 he was ap^ 
pointed Governor to 
Prince Leopold, and 
in the same year 
Extra Groom of the 
Bedchamber to Her 
Majesty* He held 
the office of Governor 
to Prince Leopold 
till His Royal High- 
ness attained his 
majority in 1874* 

The Dowager 

Duchess of 


Elizabeth, daughter 
of the fifth Earl 

Fivm a Phttto. by W* rf D. iJtiuwy. 

ho succeeded his 
in 1S88. Lady 

De La Warr, by the 
youngest daughter of 
the third Duke of 
1 )orset. The first Baron 
De I -a Warr distinguished 
himself in the wars of 
Edward III., and the 
first Earl— raised to the 
dignity of Earl in 1761 
— was a general officer- 
The Duchess married, 
in 1S44, the ninth Duke 
of Bedford, K.G., who 
was, at one time, a 
Captain in the Scots 
Fusilier Guards, She 
was appointed Mistress 
of the Robes in 1880, 
which office she held till 
1883, when she resigned 
and was made an Extra 
Lady of the Bedchamber. 
T he Duchess is a 
Royal Order of Victoria 

Viscounties ci.ifd£>J. 

From a Photo. b\t G. OlaneiUt, Tunbrvttft W'iil 

oy vj uum 1 1 Li i, ■ FR < 

member of the 

and Albert, Third Class. 



with the exception of 
some of the "Extra" 
ladies, who have 
been previously 
Maids of Honour, 
and, of course, of 
those entitled by 
birth or marriage to 
the prefix of " Hon- 
ourable/ 1 do not 
e n j oy tha 1 1 i 1 1 e. They 
must be always ready 
to attend Her 
Majesty, but they 
are not required 
to be in residence. 
They are, however, 
sometimes invited to 

The Hon. Lady 
Hamilton -Gordon. 

Caroline, the Hon, 
Lady Ham il ton 
Gordon, is the 
daughter of the late 
Sir J, F. W. Hers- 
chel, D.C.L., first 
Baronet. He was 
the eldest son of Sir 
QjjjC] William Herschel,the 





Ffvm a Ffatto. by A fcr. hw.m-. 

great astronomer, and himself a man of the 
highest scientific eminence* She married, 
in 1852, General the Hon. Sir Alexander 
Ham ikon -Gordon, K.C.B., son of the fourth 
Earl of Aberdeen; he died in 1890, Sir 
Alexander ( Gordon's military career was 
passed in the Grenadier Guards, and during 
the Crimean Campaign he served in the 

Quartermaster-General's Department at head- 
quarters. He was an officer of great ability 
and distinction. He was Equerry to the 
Prince Consort 1846-54, Extra Equerry 
to His Royal Highness from 1854 to 1861, 
and Honorary Equerry to the Queen from 
186 r. For several years he sat as M,P. for 
Aberdeenshire. In 1855 she was appointed 
Bedchamber Woman to the Queen, She is 
decorated with the Royal Order of Victoria 
and Albert of the Fourth Class* 

The Hon, Mrs, Ferguson, 

Nina Maria, the Hon, Mrs. Ferguson (of 
Pitfour), is a daughter of the first Viscount 
Bridport. She married, in 1861, Lieut- 


From a Photo, bf Kcr*if. 


Pram a Fhata. ay Manii d~ Fox. 

Colonel George Arthur Ferguson, Grenadier 
Guards- — with which regiment he served in the 
Crimea— of Pit four, Aberdeenshire, She was 
made a Bedchamber Woman to the Queen 
in 1877, and is a member of the Royal Order 
of Victoria and Albert, Fourth Class, It may 
be mentioned that in this lady's veins flows 
the blood of three heroes ; Hood, Wellington, 
and Nelson ; and that her father, who is Lord 
of the Bedchamber to Her Majesty, is also 
Duke of Bronte, whose mother was a niece 
of the great Nelson, 


Lady Elizabeth Philippa Biddulph is the 
daughter of the fourth Earl of Hardvvicke, a 




distinguished Admiral. She 
married first, in 1 860, John 
Adeane, Esq,, of Ledbury, 
Hereford. In 1870 he died, 
and in 1877 she married, 
secondly, Michael Blddulph, 
Esq., M.R She was Bed- 
chamber Woman to the 
Queen from 1873 to 1877, 
when she was appointed 
Extra Bedchamber Woman. 
She has the Royal Order 
of Victoria and Albert of 
the Fourth Class. 

The Hon. Mrs, Gerald 

Magdalen, widow of the 
late Hon. and Rev, Gerald 
Wellesley, D.D., nephew of 
the first Duke of Wellington, 
and brother of Earl Cowley, Dean of Windsor, 
who died in 1882, was married £0 him in 
1856, She was the daughter of the sixth 
and last Baron Rokeby, who, as an ensign 
in the 3rd Guards, was present when a 
lad of seventeen at the Battle of Waterloo, 
and took part in the defence of Hougemort. 
Forty years later Ixird Rokeby, as Lieutenant- 
General, commanded the 1st Division in the 
Crimea, He subsequently held command of 
the Home District. In 1882, Mrs, Wellesley 
was appointed Extra Bedchamber Woman to 
the Queen. She is a member of the Royal 
Order of Victoria and Albert, Fourth Class. 


From a Photo, fry Ada HuyhrA. 

Wilson Extra 

Mrs, Georgina Towns- 
hen d Wilson 

is a daughter of the late 
James Hope-Vere, Esq + , of 
Craigie Hall, near Edin- 
burgh, and Blackwood, 
County Lanark, and sister of 
the late Jane Marchioness 
of Ely. She married Lieu- 
tenant-Colonel Low n sh e n d 
Wilson, late Coldstream 
Guards, When the Mar- 
chioness of Ely died, having 
been a lady of the Bed- 
chamber from 1856 to 1884, 
when she became Extra 
Lady of the Bed-chamber, 
the Queen, out of compli- 
ment to her memory, ap- 
pointed Mrs. Townshend 
Bedchamber Woman to Her 


A'rvm <i PKata. &jr jVuma Blunt, AU, 


Fr<tm a 1 '.'..■ r,.- by J. Thornton. 

The Hon. Lady Biddulph. 

Mary Frederick, Hon. Lady Biddulph, 
eldest daughter of the late Frederick C\ W. 
Seymour, Esq., cousin of the fifth Marquis of 
Hertford, married in 1857 General Right 
Hon. Sir Thomas Myddleton Biddulph, P.C., 
K.C.B., Keeper of Her Majesty's Privy Purse, 
who died r3y8. She was formerly Maid 




a time promoted to the position of 
Keeper of Her Majesty's Privy Purse, 
and created a K.CB. {Civil Division). Sir 

f wi a Photo- If Ilngh&i and HitUin*> Rydc 

of Honour s and is now Extra Bedchamber 
Woman to Her Majesty and I^dy in Waiting 
to Her Royal Highness Princess Henry of 
Battenberg. She is a member of the Royal 
Order of Victoria and Albert, Fourth Class. 

The Hon. Harriet Phipps, 

The Hon, Harriet Lepel Phipps is 
the youngest daughter of the late Colonel 
the Hon* Sir Charles Beau- 
mont Phipps, K.C.B M 
Keeper of the Queen's 
Privy Purse, She was ap- 
pointed a Maid of Honour 
to the Queen in 1862, and 
afterwards a Woman of the 
Bedchamber. She has the 
Royal Order of Victoria 
and Albert of the Fourth 
Class. Her father was 
the brother of the first 
Marquis of Normanby, to 
whom he was Private 
Secretary— first when Lord 
Normanby was Governor 
of Jamaica, and afterwards 
when he was Lord Lieu- 
tenant of Ireland — and 
served for some years 
in the Scots Fusilier Guards, which he 
left on being appointed Private Secretary 
to the late Prince Consort, He was after 

From a Phutv. by Ityrtu, HishtHorut. 

From a Photo, bu EUitM d: Pry. 

Charles* in his youth, was an occasional 

contributor of no little merit to works 

like "The Keepsake," 

" The Bijou," "The 

Annual/' etc 

The Hon, Emily 

Emily Sarah Cathcart 
(Hon.), daughter of the 
late General Hon, Sir 
George Cathcart, who was 
killed at I nicer man, was 
first a Maid of Honour 
to the Queen, and in 
18S0 was appointed Extra 
Woman of the Bed- 
chamber* She is a 
member of the Royal 
Order of Victoria and 
Albert, Fourth Class. 
Her father, Sir George 
had seen much service in his 
aidt-dtHtimp to his father, Lord 
wftrigtftf I Military Commissioner 


youth as 



to the Allied 
later years 
manded at 
and gained 
Basutos in 

Armies in 1813-14. In 
Sir George Cathcart com- 
the Cape of Good Hope, 
the battle of Berea over the 
1852. Hardly returned from 
South Africa, he was sent out to the Crimea 
in command of the Fourth Division, with 
a dormant com mission in his pocket to 

event of 
Arrny in 
at Inker- 


succeed Lord Raglan, in the 

his being killed or disabled, 

mander-in-Chief of the British 

the East, He was a man of 

courage, which caused his death 

man. Thinking that he perceived an 

opening for a tactical success, he descended 

from the heights with about 400 men of 

the 2Gth Regiment and drove back the 

Russians in his front Suddenly 

that 70a or 800 Russians were 

sion of the heights which he 

quitted. The 20th had been 

by the fight in the valley, but 

having been collected, he 

storm the height. A few 

he found 
in posses- 
.had just 
fifty men 
proceeded to 
cut their way 

back under 

though only 

cover from 



through the opposing foe, a few were 
killed, while the remainder, having ex- 
hausted their cartridges, fell 
the brow, where they were, 
fifteen yards distant, under 
the enemy's fire, Cathcart, 
gardtess of personal consideration, quitted 
this cover to see personally what could 
be done. The 
next instant he 
fell dead from the 
saddle, shot through 
the heart. 

The Hon, Caroline 

Caroline Cavendish 
(Hon.), the daughter 
of the late General 
the Hon. Henry 
Cavendish, third son 
of the first Earl of 
Burlington, by a sister 
of the first Earl of 
Durham, was ap- 
pointed Maid of 
Honour to Her 
Majesty in 1847, an d 
Extra Maid of 
Honour in 1881, 
which office she re- 
tained till 1894, when 
she was made an 
Extra Woman of the 


are very diffeftnt in every respect from 
their predecessors in the Court of Queen 
Elizabeth. These young ladies used to 
take light breakfasts of beef and ale, 
and their Royal Mistress, when angry, 
would sometimes box their fair ears. 
Neither do they follow the example of the 
Maids of Honour of James I/s Queen Anne 
of Denmark, and get drunk on the occasion 
of masques. Still less have they the good 
fortune to draw pay as subalterns of cavalry, 
as did " the beautiful Molly Lepel," Maid of 
Honour to George II. J s wife, Queen Caroline, 
and afterwards wife of Lord Hervey. The 
lovely Molly, who was the daughter of 
Brigadier Lepel^ was, we are told, at one 
time a Cornet of Horse. 

The Maids of Honour of Queen Victoria 
are all young ladies of good family, who are 
selected by Her Majesty herself. On being 
appointed they receive, and enjoy for life, the 
courtesy title of " Honourable." They are 
in constant attendance on Her Majesty, two 
at a time, and reside at Court during their 
turn of waiting. 

A Maid of Honour, on being married, 
receives a wedding gift of ^£1,000. A few 
years ago, it happening that several Maids of 
Honour married after a very short connection 
with the Court, a rule was laid down that 

the ^1,000 in ques- 
tion should not be 
given unless the Maid 
about to marry had 
held her appointment 
for a certain number 
of years. 

The Hon. Ethel H. 
M, Cadogan* 

Ethel Henrietta 
M, Cadogan (Hon.) 
is the daughter of 
the Hon. Frederick 
William and Lady 
Adelaide Cadogan, 
daughter of the first 
Marquis of Anglesey, 
who commanded the 
allied cavalry at 
Waterloo. She was 
appointed Extra Maid 
of Honour to the 
Queen in 1876, and 
Maid of Honour in 


I 1880, MissCadogan's 

JLr3SS. e - M as Admiral > 



fourth Earl of Cadogan, 
CB +I who was des- 
cended from the cele- 
brated General who 
had served in the 
campaigns of William 
III. ami Marlborough, 
being for some time 
Quartermaster -General 
to the latter, and who 
died in 1726. He was 
created Earl of 
Cadogan, Colonel of 
the 1st Guards, General 
Commanding in Chief, 
and Master General of 
the Ordnance, 

The Hojt. Frances 
M, Drummond. 

Frances Mary Drum- 
mond (Hon.) is the 
daughter of the ninth 
Viscount Strathallan. 
She was appointed 
Maid of Honour to 
The Strathallans are 
branch of the very ancient and 
family of Drummond, originally 
garian origin. The arms, which comprise 


From a FJUfhffrapK, 

" three bars wavy," are 
traditionally supposed 
to represent the waves 
of the sea over which 
the Drummonds sailed 
when they came from 
Hungary to Scotland. 
The Barony of Maderty 
dates back to 1609, 
and the Viscounty of 
Strathallan to 1686, 
both of Scotland. The 
Viscount of Strathallan 
of that day, having 
taken part in the rising 
of 1745, was at- 
tainted. His titles 
were, however, restored 
to the family in 1834, 
the attainder then 
having been removed. 

The Hon. Evelyn L. 

the Queen in 1872, 
descended from a 
of Hun- 

is the youngest 
daughter of the late Rev. Canon Edward 
Moore, Rector of Frittenden, Kent, son of 
the Rev, J. MooFe, Prebendary of Canterbury, 
and Rector of Wrotham, Kent, by a daughter 
of the fourth Duke of Buccleuch* Miss Moore 

T ft H HON i Ktf A NC £S DP V HHONP, 
From a Photo* bp ■/. ThoiiuuiL. 






was appointed Maid of 
Honour to the Queen 
in April, 1881. 

The Hon. 


is the seventh daughter 
of the late Gustavus 
William Lambart, Esq*, 
of Beau Pare, Co. Meath, 
D.L., J. P., Secretary of 
the Order of St Patrick 
— he was formerly Major 
of the Royal Meath 
Militia, and was State 
Steward to the Lord 
Lieutenant of Ireland, 
1858-9 and 1874-5 — by 
I-ady Frances C. Lam- 
bart, a daughter of the 
second Marquis of Con- 
yngham. Miss I .am bart 
was appointed Maid of 
Honour to the Queen 
in January, 1890. 

The Hon, Mary 

Florentia Hughes 

is the second daughter 
of Hugh Robert 
Hughes, of Kmmcl, by 
Lady Florentia, daughter 

of the first Earl of 
Ravensworth. She was 



ancestors held the 
hereditary office of 
I nearer of the Prince of 
Wales's Coronet, which 
coronet was placed on 
the Prince's head at his 
coronation after he had 
been anointed by the 
Bishop of Bangor. Miss 
Hughes's father, who 
was a cousin of the 
second Lord Dinorben, 
is Lord Lieutenant of 

The Hon. 
Aline Majendie 

is the only daughter of 
Lewis A. Majendie, Esq., 
of Hedlmgham Castle, 
Essex, M,P., D.L, J. P., 
and of Lady Margaret 
M ajendie, second 
daughter of the twenty- 
fifth Earl of Crawford. 
She was appointed Maid 
of Honour to the Queen 
in 1894, 

The Hon. 
Mary E, Byng, 

The Hon. Mary E. 
Byng is the eldest 
daughter of Colonel the 
Hon. Henry William 
of the second Earl of 
late I^ady Agnes Paget 

John Byng, 
Strafford, by 
daughter of the first Marquis of Anglesey. 

TH£ HON. MAkY Pl.ONhN L'lA IHlrlll \ 
Fttmi a Pfr&Ut. bff Kate f'i-a^»eH t Sioant Strr*t 

appointed Maid of Honour to the Queen 
in July, 1891. Mr, Hughes is the represent- 
ative of an ancient Welsh family. His 

J J 


^H * .^^P* Jr M 

1 J £ IV DIE 




Miss Byng's mother was 
the late Countess Hen- 
rietta, daughter of Count 
Christian Danneskiold- 
Samsoe. Colonel Byn^ 
was Page of Honour to 
Her Majesty, and after- 
wards entered the Cold- 
stream Guards, and 
served in the Crimea as 
A.D.C to General Bei> 
tinck In 1872 he was 
appointed (jroom of the 
Bedchamber to Her 
Majesty, which office he 
held till 1874, when he 
became Equerry to the 
Queen, Colonel Byng 
is heir presumptive to 
his brother, the third 
Earl of Strafford. Their 
grandfather was the dis- 
tinguished soldier, Sir 
John Byng, who at 
Wa terloo commanded 
the second brigade of 
the Guards, and after- 
wards, on the severe 
wound of Genera] 
Cooke, succeeded to 
the command of the division, He, w T ho died 
a Field-Marshal, was created in 1835 Baron 
and in 1 84 7 Earl of Strafford. This branch of 
the Byngs are descended 
from Robert, son of the 
first Viscount Torrington, 
and uncle of the unfortu- 
nate Admiral Byng who 
was judicially murdered, 
Miss Byng was appointed 
Maid of Honour to the 
Queen in 1894. 

The Hon. 


Judith Harbord ( Hon.), 
daughter of the fifth Baron 
Suffield, was appointed 
Maid of Honour to Her 
Majesty in 1894. Lord 
Suffield was formerly 
Lord of the Bedchamber 
to the Queen, 1868-72, 
and Master of the Buck- 
hounds from 1886 ; Lord 
of the Bedchamber to the 


Frtnn a Photo 

Prince of Wales from 
1872, Lady Suffield, 
who is a daughter of the 
late Henry Baring, Esq., 
and sister of the first 
Baron Rev el stoke, has 
been I^dy of the Bed- 
chamber to the Princess 
of Wales from 1873. 

The "waits/' as they 
are called, or the periods 
of attendance, are regu- 
lated by the Queen, and 
are often arranged to 
suit the convenience or 
health of the ladies 
concerned* The " wait " 
of a I-ady of the Bed- 
chamber ranges from 
twelve days to a month, 
and they have each 
from two to three 
" waits " a year. 

The Women of the 

Bedchamber are in 

waiting from three to 

four times in the year, 

and their "waits" range 

from twelve to thirty 

days at a time. 

The Maids of Honour are in waiting three 

or four times a year, the period of waiting 

being generally about four weeks, 

There are a certain 
number of Extra Ladies 
of the . Bedchamber, 
Women of the Bed- 
chamber, and Maids of 
Honour, These receive 
no salaries, and, as a 
rule, perform no duties. 
Occasionally, however, 
they are called into wait- 
ing to fill a temporary 
vacancy, etc* For in- 
stance, the Hon. Emily 
Cathcart, Extra Woman 
of the Bedchamber, is 
in the list of " waits " 
for the current year. 
The Extra Ladies of 
the various classes are 
ladies who for some 
reason or other have 
resigned their appoint- 


by J. rJiHIHCMI. 




Ft-:m 1 Mot*, frif If Mact, rrvmtr, 


riginal from 

The Exploits of Brigadier Gerard. 

By A. Conan Doyle. 


ASSENA was a thin, sour little 
fellow, and after his hunting 
accident he had only one eye, 
but when it looked out from 
under his cocked hat there 
was not much upon a field of 
battle which escaped it. He could stand in 
front of a battalion, and with a single sweep 
tell you if a buckle or a gaiter button were 
out of place. Neither the officers nor the 
men were very fond of him, for he was, as 
you know, a miser, and soldiers love that their 
leaders should be free-handed At the same 
time, when it came to work they had a very 
high respect for him, and they would rather 
fight under him than under anyone except the 
Emperor himself, and Lannes, when he was 
alive. After all, if he had a tight grasp upon 
his money-bags, there was a day also, you must 
remember, when that same grip was upon 
Zurich and Genoa. He clutched on to his posi- 
tions as he did to his strong box, and it took 
a very clever man to loosen him from either. 

When I received his summons I went 
gladly to his head-quarters, for I was always 
a great favourite of his, and there was no 
officer of whom he thought more highly. 
That was the best of serving with those good 
old generals, that they knew enough to be 
able to pick out a fine soldier when they saw 
one. He was seated alone in his tent, with 
his chin upon his hand, and his brow as 
wrinkled as if he had been asked for a sub- 
scription. He smiled, however, when he 
saw me before' him. 

" Good day, Colonel Gerard." 

"Good day, Marshal." 

" How is the Third of Hussars ? " 

" Seven hundred incomparable men upon 
seven hundred excellent horses." 

" And your wounds — are they healed ? " 

" My wounds never heal, Marshal," I 

" And why ? " 

" Because I have always new ones." 

" General Rapp must look to his laurels," 
said he, his face all breaking into wrinkles as 
he laughed. " He has had twenty-one from 
the enemy's bullets, and as many from 
Larrey's knives and probes. Knowing that you 
were hurt, Colonel, I have spared you of late." 

"Which hurt me most of all." 

" Tut, tut ! Since the English got behind 

these accursed lines of Torres Vedras, there 

has been little for us to do. You did not miss 

much during your imprisonment at Dartmoor. 
But now we are on the eve of action." 

"We advance?" 

"No, retire." 

My face must have shown my dismay. 
What, retire before this sacred dog of a 
Wellington — he who had listened unmoved to 
my words, and had sent me to his land of fogs ! 
I could have sobbed as I thought of it 

" What would you have ? " cried Massena, 
impatiently. "When one is in check, it is 
necessary to move the king." 

" Forwards," I suggested. 

He shook his grizzled head. 

" The lines are not to be forced," said he. 
" I have already lost General St. Croix and 
more men than I can replace. On the other 
hand, we have been here at Santarem for 
nearly six months. There is not a pound of 
flour nor a jug of wine on the country-side. 
We must retire." 

f* There is flour and wine in Lisbon," I 

"Tut, you speak as if an army could 
charge in and charge out again like your 
regiment of hussars. If Soult were here with 
thirty thousand men —but he will not come. 
I sent for vou, however, Colonel Gerard, to 
say that I have a very singular and important 
expedition which I intend to place under 
your direction." 

I pricked up my ears, as you can imagine. 
The Marshal unrolled a great map of the 
country and spread it upon the table. He 
flattened it out with his little, hairy hands. 

" This is Santarem," he said, pointing. 

I nodded. 

" And here, twenty-five miles to the east, 
is Almeixal, celebrated for its vintages and 
for its enormous Abbey." 

Again I nodded ; I could not think what 
was coming. 

" Have you heard of the Marshal Mille- 
fleurs ? " asked Massena. 

" I have served with all the Marshals," 
said I, " but there is none of that name." 

" It is but the nickname which the soldiers 
have given- him," said Massena. "If you 
had not been away from us for some months, 
it would not be necessary for me to tell you 
about him. He is an Englishman, and a man 
of good breeding. It is on account of his 
manners tint they have given him his* title. 
I wishii^(p|r_..Jpr ! £p|rtQ this polite Englishman 
at Almeixal ,v 




11 Yes, Marshal." 

"And to hang him to the nearest tree." 

"Certainly, Marshal." 

I turned briskly upon my heels, but 
Massena recalled me before 1 could reach 
the opening of his tent 

"One moment, Colonel," said he; "you 
had best learn how matters stand before you 
start You must know, then, that this 
Marshal Millefleurs, whose real name is 
Alexis Morgan, is a man of very great 
ingenuity and bravery* He was an officer 
in the English Guards, but having been 
broken for cheating at cards, he left the 
army. In some manner he gathered a 
number of English deserters round him and 
took to the mountains. French stragglers 
and Portuguese brigands joined him, and he 
found himself at the head of five hundred 
men. With these he took possession of the 
Abbey of Almeixal, sent the monks about 
their business, fortified the place, and gathered 
in the plunder of all the country round.' 

*' For which it is high time he was hanged," 
said I, making once more for the door. 

" One instant ! " cried the Marshal, smiling 
at my impatience. "The worst remains 
behind. Only last week the Dowager Countess 

of I,a Ronda, the richest woman 
in Spain, was taken by these ruf- 
fians in the passes as she was jour- 
neying from King Josephs Court 
to visit her grandson. She is now 
a prisoner in the Abbey, and is 

only protected by her " 

" Grandrnotherhoodj" I sug- 

" Her power of paying a ran- 
som," said Massena. tL You have 
three missions, then : To rescue 
this unfortunate lady ; to punish 
this villain ; and, if possible, to 
break up this nest of brigands. ■ 
It will be a proof of the confi- 
dence which I have in you when 
I say that 1 can only spare you 
half a squadron with which to 
accomplish all this." 

My word, I could hardly 
believe my ears! I thought that 
I should have had my regiment 
at the least 

" I would give you more," 
said he, " but I commence my 
retreat to-day, and Wellington 
is so strong in horse that every 
trooper becomes of importance* 
I cannot spare you another man. 
You will see what you can do, 
and you will report yourself to me at Abrantes 
not later than to-morrow night." 

It was very complimentary that he should 
rate my powers so high, but it was also 
a little embarrassing. I was to rescue an old 
lady, to hang an Englishman, and to break 
up a band of five hundred assassins— all with 
fifty men. But after all, the fifty men were 
Hussars of Conflans, and they had an Etienne 
Gerard to lead them. As I came out into 
the warm Portuguese sunshine my confidence 
had returned to me, and I had already begun 
to wonder whether the medal which I had so 
often deserved might not be waiting for me 
at Almcixal. 

You may be sure that 1 did not take my 
fifty men at haphazard, They were all old 
soldiers of the German wars, some of them 
with three stripes, and most of them with two, 
Oudet and Papilette, two of the best sub- 
officers in the regiment, were at their head. 
When I had them formed up in fours, all 
in silver grey and upon chestnut horses, with 
their leopard skin shabracks and their little 
red panaches, my heart beat high at the sight. 
I could not lodkat their weather-stained faces, 
with the great rnousiarhes_wluch bristled over 
their cUifl-sim^kJta^ a. glow 1 of 



confidence, and, between ourselves, I have 
no doubt that that was exactly how they felt 
when they saw their young Colonel on his 
great black war-horse riding at their head. 

Well, when we got free of the camp and 
over the Tagus, I threw out my advance and 
my flankers, keeping my own place at the 
head of the main body. Looking back from 
the hills above Santarem, we could see the 
dark lines of Massena's army, with the flash 
and twinkle of the sabres and bayonets as he 
mo%*ed his regiments into position for their 
retreat To the south lay the scattered red 
patches of the English outposts, and behind 
the grey smoke-cloud which rose from 
Wellington's camp— thick, oily smoke, which 
seemed to our poor starving fellows to bear 
with it the rich smell of seething camp- 
kettles. Away to the west lay a curve of 
blue sea flecked with the white sails of the 
English ships. 

You will understand that as we were riding to 
the east, our road lay away from both armies. 
Our own marauders, however, and the scouting 
parties of the English, covered the country, and 
it was necessary with my small troop that I 
should take every precaution. During the 
whole day we rode over desolate hill-sides, 
the lower portions covered by the budding 
vines, but the upper turning from green to 
grey, and jagged along the skyline like the 

back of a starved horse. Mountain streams 
crossed our path, running west to the Tagus, 
and once we came to a deep strong river, 
which might have checked us had I not 
found the ford by observing where houses had 
been built opposite each other upon either 
bank. Between them, as every scout should 
know, you will find your ford. There was none 
to give us information, for neither man nor 
beast, nor any living thing except great clouds 
of crows, was to be seen during our journey. 

The sun was beginning to sink when we 
came to a valley clear in the centre, but 
shrouded by huge oak trees upon either side, 
We could not be more than a few miles from 
Almeixal,. so it seemed to me to be best to 
keep among the groves, for the spring had been 
an early one and the leaves were already 
thick enough to conceal us. We were riding 
then in open order among the great trunks, 
when one of my flankers came galloping up, 

" There are English across the valley, 
Colonel," he cried, as he saluted. 

11 Cavalry or infantry ? " 

il Dragoons, Colonel/' said he ; " I saw 
the gleam of their helmets, and heard the 
neigh of a horse." 

Halting my men, I hastened to the edge of 
the wood. There could be no doubt about 
it. A party of English cavalry was travelling 
in a line with us, and in the same direction. 

- 1 hastened tu thk i^E o'ij M'tiR^T OF MICHIGAN 



I caught a glimpse of their red coats and of 
their flashing arms glowing and twinkling 
among the tree-trunks. Once, as they passed 
through a small clearing, I could see their 
whole force, and I judged that they were of 
about the same strength as my own — a half 
squadron at the most. 

You who have heard some of my little 
adventures will give me credit for being quick 
in my decisions, and prompt in carrying them 
out. But here I must confess that I was in 
two minds. On the one hand there was the 
chance of a fine cavalry skirmish with the 
English. On the other hand, there was my 
mission at the Abbey of Almeixal, which 
seemed already to be so much above my 
power. If I were to lose any of my men, 
it was certain that I should be unable to 
carry out my orders. I was sitting my horse, 
with my chin in my gauntlet, looking across at 
the rippling gleams of light from the further 
wood, when suddenly one of these red-coated 
Englishmen rode out from the cover, pointing 
at me and breaking into a shrill whoop arid 
halloa as if I had been a fox. Three others 
joined him, and one who was a bugler sounded 
a call which brought the whole of them into 
the open. They were, as I had thought, a 
half squadron, and they formed a double line 
with a front of twenty-five, their officer — the 
one who had whooped at me — at their head. 

For my own part, I had instantly brought 
my own troopers into the same formation, so 
that there we were, hussars and dragoons, with 
only two hundred yards of grassy sward be- 
tween us. They carried themselves well, those 
red-coated troopers, with their silver helmets, 
their high white plumes, and their long, 
gleaming swords ; while, on the other hand, 
I am sure that they would acknowledge that 
they had never looked upon finer light horse- 
men than the fifty hussars of Conflans who 
were facing them. They were heavier, it is 
true, and they may have seemed the smarter, 
for Wellington used to make them burnish 
their metal work, which was not usual among 
us. On the other hand, it is well known that 
the English tunics were too tight for the sword- 
arm, which gave our men an advantage. As 
to bravery, foolish, inexperienced people of 
every nation always think that their own 
soldiers are braver than any others. There is 
no nation in the world which does not enter- 
tain this idea. But when one has seen as much 
as I have done, one understands that there is 
no very marked difference, and that although 
nations differ very much in discipline, they 
are all equally brave — except that the French 
have rather more courage than the rest. 

Well, the cork was drawn and the glasses 
ready, when suddenly the English officer 
raised his sword to me as if in a challenge, 
and cantered his horse across the grassland. 
My word, there is no finer sight upon earth 
than that of a gallant man upon a gallant 
steed ! I could have halted there just to 
watch him as he came with such careless 
grace, his sabre down by his horse's shoulder, 
his head thrown back, his white plume 
tossing — youth and strength and courage, 
with the violet evening sky above and the 
oak trees behind. But it was not for me to 
stand and stare. Etienne Gerard may have 
his faults, but, my faith, he was never accused 
of being backward in taking his own part 
The old horse, Rataplan, knew me so well 
that he had started off before ever I gave the 
first shake to the bridle. 

There are two things in this world that I 
am very slow to forget, the face of a pretty 
woman, and the legs of a fine horse. Well, 
as we drew together, I kept on saying, 
" Where* have I seen those great roan 
shoulders ? Where have I seen that dainty 
feJock?" Then suddenly I remembered, 
and as I looked up at the reckless eyes and 
the challenging smile, whom should I recog- 
nise but the man who had saved me from 
the brigands and played me for my freedom 
— he whose correct title was Milor the Hon. 
Sir Russell Bart. ! 

" Bart. ! " I shouted. 

He had his arm raised for a cut, and three 
parts of his body open to my point, for he 
did not know very much about the use of the 
sword. As I brought my hilt to the salute 
he dropped his hand and stared at me. 

11 Halloa ! " said he. " It's Gerard ! " You 
would have thought by his manner that I had 
met him by appointment. For my own part 
I would have embraced him had he but come 
an inch of the way to meet me. 

" I thought we were in for some sport," 
said he. " I never dreamed that it was you." 

I found this tone of disappointment some- 
what irritating. Instead of being glad at 
having met a friend, he was sorry at having 
missed an enemy. 

" I should have been happy to join in your 
sport, my dear Bart," said I. " But I really 
cannot turn my sword upon a man who saved 
my life." 

" Tut, never mind about that." 

"No, it is impossible. I should never 
forgive myself." 

"You make too much of a trifle." 

" My mother's one desire is to embrace 
you. If ever you should be in Gascony " 




"Lord Wellington is coming there with 
60,000 men." 

" Then one of them will have a chance of 
surviving," said I, laughing. "In the mean- 
time, put your sword in your sheath ! " 

Our horses were standing head to talk and 
the Bart put out his hand and patted me on 
the thigh. 

"You're a good chap, Gerard," said he. 
"I only wish you had been born on the right 
side of the Channel," 

" I was," said L 

" Poor fellow ! " he cried, with such an 
earnestness of pity that he set me laughing 
again, "But look here, Gerard/' he con- 
tinued, "this is all very well, but it is not 
business, you know. I don't know what 
Massena would say to it, but our Chief would 
jump out of his riding-boots if he saw us. 
We weren't sent out here for a picnic — either 
of us." 

"What would you have ? " 

" Well, we had a little argument about our 
hussars and dragoons, if you remember. 
I've got fifty of the Sixteenth all chewing 
their carbine bullets behind me. You've 
got as many fine-looking boys over yonder, 
who seem to be fidgeting in their saddles. 
If you and I took the right flanks we should 
not spoil each other's beauty— though a little 
blood-letting is a friendly thing in this climate." 

There seemed to me to be a good deal of 
sense in what he said. For the moment Mr. 
Alexis Morgan and the Countess of I^a Ronda 

and the Abbey of Almeixal went right out of 
my head, and I could only think of the fine 
level turf and of the beautiful skirmish which 
we might have. 

"Very good, Bart.," said I. "We have 
seen the front of your dragoons. We shall 
now have a look at their backs." 

"Any betting?" he asked. 

"The stake," said I, " is nothing less than 
the honour of the Hussars of Conflans." 

" Well, come on ! " he answered. " If we 
break you, well and good — if you break us, it 
will be all the better for Marshal Millefleu^s.' , 

When he said that I could only stare at 
him in astonishment. 

" Why for Marshal Millefleurs ? " I asked. 

" It is the name of a rascal who lives out 
this way. My dragoons have been sent by 
Lord Wellington to see him safely hanged." 

" Name of a name ! " I cried " Why, my 
hussars have been sent by Masse na for that 
very object" 

We burst out laughing at that, and sheathed 
our swords. There was a whirr of steel from 
behind us as our troopers followed our 

"We are allies," he cried. 

"For a day." 

" We must join forces." 

" There is no doubt of it" 

And so, instead of fighting, we wheeled 
our half squadrons round and moved in two 
little columns down the valley, the shakos 
and the helmets turned inwards, and the men 



*? - 



looking their neighbours up and down, like 
old fighting dogs with tattered ears who have 
learned to respect each others teeth. The 
most were on the broad grin, hut there were 
some on either side who looked black and 
challenging, especially the English sergeant 
and my own sub-officer Papilette* They 
were men of habit, you see, who could not 
change all thefr ways of thinking in a 
moment Besides, Papilette had lost his 
only brother at Busaco, As for the Bart, 
and me, we rode together at the head 
and chatted about all that had occurred to 
us since that famous game of ecartt* of 
which I have told you. For my own part, I 
spoke to him of my adventures in England. 
They are a very singular people, these 
English, Although he knew that 
I had been engaged in twelve cam- 
paigns, yet I am sure that the Bart, 
thought more highly of me because 
I had had an affair with the Bristol 
Bustler. He told me, too, that the 
Colonel who presided over his 
court-martial for playing cards 
with a prisoner, acquitted him of 
neglect of duty, but nearly broke 
him because he thought that he 
had not cleared his trumps before 
leading his suit. Yes, indeed, they 
are a singular people. 

At the end of the valley the road 
curved over some rising ground 
before winding down into another 
wider valley beyond. We called 
a halt when we came to the top ; 
for there, right in front of us, at 
the distance of about three miles, 
was a scattered, grey town, with a 
single enormous building upon the 
flank of the mountain which over- 
looked it. We could not doubt 
that we were at last in sight of the 
Abbey that held the gang of rascals 
whom we had come to disperse. 
It was only now, I think, that we 
fully understood what a task lay 
in front of us, for the place was a 
veritable fortress, and it was evi- 
dent that cavalry should never 
have been sent out upon such an 

11 That's got nothing to do with 
us/' said the Bart. ; u Wellington and Massena 
can settle that between them." 

" Courage ! " I answered. " Y\i€ took 
Leipzig with fifty hussars." 

" Had they been dragoons," said the Bart, 
laughing, "he would have had Berlin. But 

you are senior officer : give us a lead, and 
we'll see who will be the first to flinch." 

" Well," said I, "whatever we do must be 
done at once, for my orders are to be on my 
way to Abrantes by to-morrow night. But 
we must have some information first, and 
here is someone who should be able to give 
it to us," 

There was a square, whitewashed house 
standing by the roadside, which appeared, 
from the bush hanging over the door, to be 
one of those wayside tabernas which art; 
provided for the muleteers. A lantern was 
hung in the porch, and by its light we saw 
two men, the one in the brown habit of a 
Capuchin monk, and the other girt with an 
apron, which showed him to be the landlord. 

rent mercy's sake^ spakb krI" 

They were conversing together so earnestly 
that we were upon them before they were 
aware of us. The innkeeper turned to fly, 
hut one of the Englishmen seized him by 
the hair, and iiek* hfm ti^ht. 



u My house has been gutted by the French 
and harried by the English, and my feet have 
been burned by the brigands. I swear by 
the Virgin that I have neither money nor 
food in my inn, and the good Father Abbot, 
who is starving upon my doorstep, will be 
witness to it" 

" Indeed, sir," said the Capuchin, in 
excellent French, "what this worthy man 
says is very true. He is one of the many 
victims to these cruel wars, although his loss 
is but a feather-weight compared to mine. 
Let him go/' he added, in English, to the 
trooper, "he is too weak to fly, even if he 
desired to." 

In the light of the lantern I saw that this 
monk was a magnificent man, dark and 
bearded, with the eyes of a hawk, and so tall 
that his cowl came up to Rataplan's ears. 
He wore the look of one who had been 
through much suffering, but he carried him- 
self like a king, and we could form some 
opinion of his learning when we each heard 
him talk our own language as fluently as if 
he were born to it. 

" You have nothing to fear," said I, to the 
trembling innkeeper. "As to you, father, 
you are, if I am not mistaken, the very man 
who can give us the information which we 

"All that I have is at your service, my 
son. But," he added, with a wan smile, 
" my Lenten fare is always somewhat meagre, 
and this year it has been such that I must 
ask you for a crust of bread if I am to have 
the strength to answer your questions." 

We bore two days' rations in our haver- 
sacks, so that he soon had the little he 
asked for. It was dreadful to see the wolfish 
way in which he seized the piece of dried 
goat's flesh which I was able to offer him. 

" Time presses, and we must come to the 
point," said I. " We want your advice as to 
the weak points of yonder Abbey, and con- 
cerning the habits of the rascals who infest it." 

He cried out something which I took to 
be Latin, with his hands clasped and his eyes 
upturned. " The prayer of the just availeth 
much," said he, " and yet I had not dared to 
hope that mine would have been so speedily 
answered. In me you see the unfortunate 
Abbot of Almeixal, who has been cast out 
by this rabble of three armies with their 
heretical leader. Oh ! to think of what I have 
lost ! " his voice broke, and the tears hung 
upon his lashes. 

" Cheer up, sir," said the Bart. " Til lay 
nine to four that we have you back again by 
to-morrow night" 

" It is not of my own welfare that I think," 
said he, " nor even of that of my poor, scat- 
tered flock. But it is of the holy relics which 
are left in the sacrilegious hands of these 

" It's even betting whether they would ever 
bother their heads about them," said the 
Bart. " But show us the way inside the 
gates, and we'll soon clear the place out for 

In a few short words the good Abbot gave 
us the very points that we wished to know. 
But all that he said only made our task more 
formidable. The walls of the Abbey were forty 
feet high. The lower windows were barri- 
caded, and the whole building loopholed for 
musketry fire. The gang preserved military 
discipline, and their sentries were too 
numerous for us to hope to take them by 
surprise. It was more than ever evident that 
a battalion of grenadiers and a couple of 
breaching pieces were what was needed. I 
raised my eyebrows, and the Bart began to 

" We must have a shot at it, come what 
may," said he. 

The men had already dismounted, and, 
having watered their horses, were eating their 
suppers. For my own part I went into the 
sitting-room of the inn with the Abbot and 
the Bart., that we might talk about our plans. 

I had a little cognac in my sauve vie, and I 
divided it among us — just enough to wet our 

"It is unlikely," said I, "that those 
rascals know anything about our coming. I 
have seen no signs of scouts along the road. 
My own plan is that we should conceal our- 
selves in some neighbouring wood, and then, 
when they open their gates, charge down 
upon them and take them by surprise." 

The Bart was of opinion that this was the 
best that we could do, but, when we came 
to talk it over, the Abbot made us see that 
there were difficulties in the way. 

" Save on the side of the town there is no 
place within a mile of the Abbey where you 
could shelter man or horse," said he. " As 
to the townsfolk, they are not to be trusted. I 
fear, my son, that your excellent plan would 
have little chance of success in the face 'of 
the vigilant guard which these men keep." 

" I see no other way," answered I. 
" Hussars of Conflans are not so plentiful that 
I can afford to run half a squadron of them 
against a forty foot wall with five hundred 
infantry behind ifcJUi 

"I am a man of peace," said the Abbot, 
"and yet I may, perhaps, give a word of 



I will tell you 
do if I were in 

counsel. I know these villains and their 
ways. Who should do so better, seeing that 
I have stayed for a month in this lonely spot, 
looking clown in weariness of heart at the 
Abbey which was my own ? 
now what I should myself 
your place." 

" Pray tell us, father," we cried, both 

" You must know that bodies of deserters, 
both French and English, are continually 
coming in to them, carrying their weapons 
with them. Now, what is there to prevent 
you and your men from pretending to be 
such a body, and so making your way into 
the Abbey?" 

I was amazed at the simplicity of the 
thing, and I embraced the good Abbot. The 
Bart, however, had some objections to offer. 

"That is all very well, : * said he, "but if 
these fellows are as sharp as you say, it is not 
very likely that they are going to let a hun- 
dred armed strangers into their crib. From 
all I have heard of Mr. Morgan, or Marshal 
Millefleurs, or whatever the rascal's name is, 
I give him credit for more sense 
than that." 

"Well, then," 1 cried, "let us 
send fifty in, and let them at day- 
break throw open the gates to the 
other fifty, who will be waiting 

We discussed the question at 
great length and with much fore- 
sight and discretion. If it had 
been Massena and Wellington 
instead of two young officers of 
light cavalry, we could not have 
weighed it all with more judg- 
ment At last we agreed, the 
Hart, and I, that one of us should 
indeed go with fifty men under 
pretence of being deserters, and 
that in the early morning he 
should gain command of the 
gate and admit the others. The 
Abbot, it is true, was still of 
opinion that it was dangerous to 
divide our force, but finding that 
we were both of the same mind, 
he shrugged his shoulders and 
gave in. 

"There is only one thing that 
I would ask," said he. "If you 
lay hands upon this Marshal 
Millefleurs — this dog of a brigand 
—what will you do with hini? J> 

" Hang him," I answered, 

" It is too easy a death/' cried 

the Capuchin, with a vindictive glow in his 
dark eyes. u Had I my way with him — but, 
oh, what thoughts are these for a servant of 
God to harbour ! " He clapped his hands to 
his forehead like one who is half demented by 
his troubles, and rushed out of the room. 

There was an important point which we 
had still to settle, and that was whether the 
French or the English party should have the 
honour of entering the Abbey first. My faith, 
it was asking a great deal of Etienne Gerard 
that he should give place to any man at such 
a time ! But the poor Bart pleaded so hard, 
urging the few poor skirmishes which he had 
seen against my four -and-seventy engagements, 
that at last I consented that he should go, We 
had just clasped hands over the matter when 
there broke out such a shouting and cursing 
and yelling from the front of the inn, that out 
we rushed with our drawn sabres in our hands, 
convinced that the brigands were upon us. 

You may imagine our feelings when, by 
the light of the lantern which hung from the 
porch, we saw a score of our hussars and 
dragoons all mixed in one wild heap, red 

HU55AK? AN 1 




coats and blue, helmets and busbies, pomel- 
ling each other to their hearts' content. We 
flung ourselves upon them, imploring, threat- 
ening, tugging at a lace collar, or at a spurred 
heel, until, at last, we had dragged them all 
apart. There they stood, flushed and bleed- 
ing, glaring at each other, and all panting 
together like a line of troop horses after a 
ten-mile chase. It was only with our drawn 
swords that we could keep them from each 
other's throats. The poor Capuchin stocd in 
the porch in his long brown habit, wringing 
his hands and calling upon all the saints for 

He was indeed, as I found upon inquiry, 
the innocent cause of all the turmoil; for, 
not understanding how soldiers look upon 
such things, he had made some remark to the* 
English sergeant that it was a pity that his 
squadron was not as good as the French. 
The words were not out of his mouth before 
a dragoon knocked down the nearest hussar, 
and then, in a moment, they all flew at each 
other like tigers. We would trust them no 
more after that, but the Bart, moved his men 
to the front of the inn, and I mine to the 
back, the English all scowling and silent, and 
our fellows shaking their fists and chattering, 
each after the fashion of their own people. 

Well, as our plans were made, we thought 
it best to carry them out at once, lest some 
fresh cause of .quarrel should break out 
between our followers. The Bart, and his 
men rode off, therefore, he having first torn 
the lace from his sleeves, and the gorget and 
sash from his uniform, so that he might 
pass as a simple trooper. He explained to 
his men what it was that was expected of 
them, arid though they did not raise a cry or 
wave their weapons as mine might have done, 
there was an expression upon their stolid and 
clean-shaven faces which filled me with confi- 
dence. Their tunics were left unbuttoned, 
their scabbards and helmets stained with 
dirt, and their harness badly fastened, so that 
they might look the part of deserters, without 
order or discipline. At six o'clock next 
morning they were to gain command of the 
main gate of the Abbey, while at that same 
hour my hussars were to gallop up to it 
from outside. The Bart, and I pledged 
our words to it before he trotted off with his 
detachment My sergeant, Papilette, with 
two troopers, followed the English at a 
distance, and returned in half an hour to 
say that, after some parley, and the flashing 
of lanterns upon them from the grille, they 
had been admitted into the Abbey. 

So far, then, all had gone well. It was a 

cloudy night with a sprinkling of rain, which 
was in our favour, as there was the less 
chance of our presence being discovered. 
My vedettes I placed two hundred yards in 
every direction, to guard against a surprise, 
and also to prevent any peasant who might 
stumble upon us from carrying the news to 
the Abbey. Oudin and Papilette were to 
take turns of duty, while the others with 
their horses had snug quarters in a great 
wooden granary. Having walked round and 
seen that all was as it should be, I flung 
myself upon the bed which the innkeeper 
had set apart for me, and fell into a dreamless 

No doubt you have heard my name 
mentioned as being the beau -ideal of a 
soldier, and that not only by friends and 
admirers like our fellow-townsfolk, but also 
by old officers of the great wars who have 
shared the fortunes of those famous cam- 
paigns with me. Truth and modesty compel 
me to say, however, that this is not so. 
There are some gifts which I lack — very few, 
no doubt— but, still, amid the vast armies 
of the Emperor there may have been some 
who were free from those blemishes which 
stood between me and perfection. Of bravery 
I say nothing. Those who have seen me in 
the field are best fitted to speak about that. 
I have often heard the soldiers discussing 
round the camp-fires as to who was the 
bravest man in the Grand Army. Some said 
Murat, and some said I^asalle, and some Ney ; 
but for my own part, when they asked me, I 
merely shrugged my shoulders and smiled. 
It would have seemed mere conceit if I had 
answered that there was no man braver than 
Brigadier Gerard. At the same time, facts 
are facts, and a man knows best what his own 
feelings are. But there are other gifts besides 
bravery which are necessary for a soldier, and 
one of them is that he should be a light 
sleeper. Now, from my boyhood onwards, 
I have been hard to wake, and it was this 
which brought me to ruin upon that night. 

It may have been about two o'clock in the 
morning that I was suddenly conscious of a 
feeling of suffocation. I tried to call out, 
but there was something which prevented 
me from uttering a sound. I struggled to 
rise, but I could only flounder like a ham- 
strung horse. I was strapped at the ankles, 
strapped at the knees, and strapped again at 
the wrists. Only my eyes were free to move, 
and there at the foot of my couch, by the 
light of a Portuguese lamp, whom should I 
see but the Abbot and the innkeeper ! 

The latter r s heavy, white face had appeared 




to me when 1 looked upon it the evening 
before to express nothing but stupidity and 
terror. Now. on the contrary, every feature 
bespoke brutality and ferocity. Never have 
I seen a more dreadful-looking villain. In 
his hand he held a long, dull-coloured knife. 
The Ahbot, on the other hand, was as 
polished and as dignified as ever. His 
Capuchin gown had been thrown open, how- 
ever, and I saw beneath it a blaek-frogged 
coat , such as I have seen among the English 
officers, As our eyes met he leaned over the 
wooden end of the bed and laughed silently 
until it creaked again. 

"You will, I am sure, excuse my mirth, 
my dear Colonel Gerard," said he. "The 
fact is, that the expression upon your face 
when you grasped the situation was just a 

rased his nickname, I could say nothing, 
but they must have read my threat in my 
eyes, for the fellow who had played the part 
of the innkeeper whispered something to his 

14 No, no, my dear Chenier, he will be 
infinitely more valuable alive," said he. " By 
the way, Colonel, it is just as well that you 
are a sound sleeper, for my friend here, who 
is a little rough in his ways, would certainly 
have cut your throat if you had raised any 
alarm, I should recommend you to keep in 
his good graces, for Sergeant Chenier, late of 
the 7th Imperial Light Infantry, is a much 
more dangerous person than Captain Alexis 
Morgan, of His Majesty's foot-guards." 

Chenier grinned and shook his knife at me, 
while I tried to look the loathing which I felt 
at the thought that a soldier of the Emperor 
could fall so low. 

u It may amuse you to know," said the 


little funny, I have no doubt that you are 
an excellent soldier, but I hardly think 
that you are fit to measure wits with the 
Marshal Millefleurs, as your fellows have been 
good enough to call me. You appear to have 
given me credit for singularly little intelli- 
gence, which argues, if I may he allowed to 
say so, a want of aeuteness upon your own 
part Indeed, with the single exception of 
my thick-headed compatriot, the British 
dragoon, I have never met anyone who was 
less competent to carry out such a mission.'' 

You can imagine how I felt and how I 
looked, as 1 listened lo this insolent harangue, 
which was all delivered in that flowery and 
condescending manner which hai 

$6egFi thK 

Marshal, in that soft, suave voice of his, 
"that both your expeditions were watched 
from the time that you left your respective 
camps, I think that you will allow that 
Chenier and I played our parts with some 
subtlety. We had made every arrangement 
for your reception at the Abbey, though we 
had hoped In receive the whole squadron 
instead of half. When the gatts are secured 
behind them, our visitors find themselves in a 
very charming little medieval quadrangle, 
with no possible exit, commanded by 
musketry fire from a hundred windows. 
They may choose to be shot down ; or they 
may choose to surrender Between ourselves, 
I have noUffllffln alighted doubt that they 




have been wise enough to do the latter. 
But since you are naturally interested in 
the matter, we thought that you would 
care to come with us and to see for yourself. 
I think I can promise you that you will find 
your titled friend waiting for you at the 
Abbey with a face as long as your own." 

The two villains began whispering together, 
debating, as far as I could hear, which was 
the best way of avoiding my vedettes. 

u 1 will make sure that it is all clear upon 
the other side of the barn," said the Marshal 
at last. "You will stay here, my good 
Chenier, and if the prisoner gives any trouble 
you will know what to do." 

So we were left together, this murderous 
renegade and I— he sitting at the end of the 
bed, sharpening his knife upon his boot in 
the light of the single smoky little oil-lamp. 
As to me, I only wonder now as I look back 
upon it, that I did not go mad with vexation 
and self-reproach as I lay helplessly upon the 
couch, unable to utter a word or move a 
finger, with the knowledge that my fifty 
gallant lads were so close to me, and yet with 
no means of letting them know the straits 
to which I was reduced. It was no new thing 
for me to be a prisoner ; but to be taken by 
these renegades, and to be led into their 
Abbey in the midst of their jeers, befooled 
and outwitted by their insolent leaders— that 
was indeed more than I could endure. The 
knife of the butcher beside me would cut less 
deeply than that. 

I twitched softly at my wrists, and then at 
my ankles, but whichever of the two had 
secured me was no bungler at his work. I 
could not move either of them an inch. 
Then I tried to work the handkerchief down 
over my mouth, but the ruffian beside me 
raised his knife with such a threatening snarl 
that I had to desist. I was lying still look- 
ing at his bull neck, and wondering whether 
it would ever be my good fortune to fit it 
for a cravat, when I heard returning steps 
coming down the inn passage and up the 
stair. What word would the villain bring 
back ? If he found it impossible to kidnap 
me, he would probably murder me where I 
lay. For my own part, I was indifferent which 
it might be, and I looked at the doorway with 
the contempt and defiance which I longed to 
put into words. But you can imagine my 
feelings, my dear friends, when, instead of 
the tall figure and dark, sneering face of the 
Capuchin, my eyes fell upon the grey pelisse 
and huge moustaches of my good little sub- 
officer, Papilette ! 

The French soldier of those days had seen 

too much to be ever taken by surprise. His 
eyes had hardly rested upon my bound figure 
and the sinister face beside me before he had 
seen how the matter lay. 

41 Sacred name of a dog ! " he growled, and 
out flashed his great sabre. Chenier sprang 
forward at him with his knife, and then, 
thinking better of it, he darted back and 
stabbed frantically at my heart. For my own 
part, I had hurled myself off the bed on the 
side opposite to him, and the blade grazed 
my side before ripping its way through 
blanket and sheet. An instant later I heard 
the thud of a heavy fall, and then almost 
simultaneously a second object struck the 
floor— something lighter but harder, which 
rolled under the bed. I will not horrify you 
with details, my friends. Suffice it that 
Papilette was one of the strongest swordsmen 
in the regiment, and that his sabre was heavy 
and sharp. It left a red blotch upon my 
wrists and my ankles, as it cut the thongs 
which bound me. 

When I had thrown off my gag, the first 
use which I made of my lips was to kiss the 
sergeant's scarred cheeks. The next was to 
ask him if all was well with the command. 
Yes, they had had no alarms. Oudin had 
just relieved him, and he had come to report. 
Had he seen the Abbot ? No, he had seen 
nothing of him. Then we must form a 
cordon and prevent his escape. I was hurry- 
ing out to give the orders, when I heard a 
slow and measured step enter the door below, 
and come creaking up the stairs. 

Papilette understood it all in an instant. 
" You are not to kill him," I whispered, and 
thrust him into the shadow on one side of 
the door ; I crouched on the other. Up he 
came, up and up, and every footfall seemed 
to be upon my heart. The brown skirt of 
his gown was not over the threshold before 
we were both on him, like two wolves on 
a buck. Down we crashed, the three of us, 
he fighting like a tiger, and with such amazing 
strength that he might have broken away from 
the two of us. Thrice he got to his feet, and 
thrice we had him over again, until Papilette 
made him feel that there was a point to his 
sabre. He had sense enough then to know 
that the game was up, and to lie still while I 
lashed him with the very cords which had 
been round my own limbs. 

"There has been a fresh deal, my fine 
fellow," said I, " and you will find that I 
have some of the trumps in my hand this 

" Luck always comes to the aid of a fool," 
he answered. ; ' Perhaps it is as well, other- 

umi i 



" umvM vk crashed. 

wise the world would fall too completely into 
the power of the astute. So, you have killed 
Chenier, I see. He was an insubordinate 
dog T and always smelt abominably of garlic. 
Might I trouble you to lay me upon the bed? 
The floor of these Portuguese tahcrnas is 
hardly a fitting couch for anyone who has 
prejudices in favour of clean liness," 

I could not but admire the coolness of 
the man, and the way in which he preserved 
the same insolent air of condescension in 
spite of this sudden turning of the tables. I 
dispatched Pa pi let to to summon a guard, 
whilst I stood over our prisoner with my 
drawn sword, never taking my eyes off him 
Tor an instant, for I must confess that I had 
conceived a great respect for his audacity and 

'* I trust/' said he, '* that your men will 
treat nie in a becoming manner" 

14 You will get your deserts — you may 
depend upon that," 

"I ask nothing more. You may not be 
aware of my exalted birth, but I am so 
placed that 1 cannot name my father without 
treason, nor my mother without a scandal. 

I cannot £laim Royal honours r but 
these things are so much more 
graceful when they are conejded 
without a claim. The thongs are 
cutting my skin. Might I beg 
you to loosen them ? " 

"You do not give me credit for 
much intelligence/ 3 I remarked, 
repeating his own words, 

"TfiiieM" he cried, like a pinks J 
fencer, "But here come your 
men, so it matters little whether 
you loosen them or not." 

I ordered the gown to be 
stripped from him and placed him 
under a strong guard. Then, :is 
morning was already breaking, 1 
1 ilk c 1 lo consider what my ne\t 
step was to be. The poor Bart, 
and his Englishmen had fallen 
victims to the deep scheme which 
might, had we adopted all the 
crafty suggestions of our adviser, 
have ended in the capture of the 
whole instead or the half or our 
force. I must extricate them it 
it were still possible. Then there 
was the old lady, the Countess of 
I.a lionda, to be thought of. As 
to the Abbey, since its garrison 
was on the alert it was hopeless 
to think of capturing that All 
turned now upon the \alue which 
they placed upon their leader. The game 
depended upon my playing that one card. 
I will tell you how boldly and how skilfully I 
played it 

It was hardly light before my bugler blew 
the assembly, and out we trotted on to the 
plain. My prisoner was placed on horseback 
in the very centre of the troops. It chanced 
that there was a large tree just out of musket- 
shot from the main gate of the Abbey, and 
under this we halted. Had they opened the 
great doors in order to attack us, I should 
have charged home upon them ; but, as I had 
expected, they stood upon the defensive, 
lining the long wall and pouring down a 
torrent of hootings and taunts and derisive 
laughter upon us, A few fired their muskets, 
but finding that we were out of reach they 
soon ceased to waste their powder. It was 
the strangest sight to see that mixture of 
uniforms, French, English, and Portuguese, 
cavalry, infantry and artillery, all wagging 
their heads and shaking their fists at us. 

My word, their hubbub soon died away 
when we pjjeued. rQiiL ranks, and showed 

who mmMwi&f 

dsLofus! There 



was silence for a few seconds, and then such 
a howl of rage and grief ! I could see some 
of them dancing like madmen upon the wall. 
He must have been a singular person, this 
prisoner of ours, to have gained the affection 
of such a gang. 

I had brought a rope from the inn, and we 
slung it over the lower bough of the tree. 

"You will permit me, monsieur, to undo 
your collar," said Papilette, with mock 

"If your hands, are perfectly clean, ,, 
answered our prisoner, and set the whole 
half-squadron laughing. 

There was another yell from the wall, 
followed by a profound hush as the noose 
was tightened round Marshal Millefleurs' 
neck. Then came a shriek from a bugle, 
the Abbey gates flew open, and three men 
rushed out waving white cloths in their 
hands. Ah, how my heart bounded with 
joy at the sight of them. And yet I would 
not advance an inch to meet them, so that 
all the eagerness might seem to be upon 
their side. I allowed my trumpeter, how- 
ever, to wave a handkerchief in reply, upon 
which the three envoys came running towards 
us. The Marshal, still pinioned, and with 
the rope round his neck, sat his horse with a 
half smile, as one who is slightly bored and 
yet strives out of courtesy not to show it. If 
I were in such a situation I could not wish 
to carry myself better, and surely I can say 
no more than that. 

They were a singular trio, these ambas- 
sadors. The one was a Portuguese cagadore 
in his dark uniform, the second a French 
chasseur in the lightest green, and the third 
a big English artilleryman in blue and gold. 
They saluted, all three, and the Frenchman 
did the talking. 

"We have thirty-sfeven English dragoons 
in our hands," said he. " We give you our 
most solemn oath that they shall all hang 
from the Abbey wall within five minutes of 
the death of our Marshal." 

" Thirty-seven ! " I cried. " You have 

" Fourteen were cut down before they 
could be secured." 

"And the officer?" 

" He would not surrender his sword save 
with his life, ft was not our fault. We 
would have saved him if we could." 

Alas for my poor Bart. ! I had met him but 
twice, and yet he was a man very much after my 
heart. I have always had a regard for the Eng- 
lish for the sake of that one friend. A braver 
man and a worse swordsman I have never met. 

I did not, as you may think, take these 
rascals' word for anything. Papilette was 
dispatched with one of them, and returned 
to say that it was too true. I had now to 
think of the living. 

" You will release the thirty-seven dragoons 
if I free your leader ? " 

" We will give you ten of them." 

" Up with him ! " I cried. 

" Twenty," shouted the chasseur. 

" No more words," said I. " Pull on the 
rope ! " 

"All of them," cried the envoy, as the 
cord tightened round the Marshal's neck. 

" With horses and arms?" 

They could see that I was not a man to 
jest with. 

"All complete," said the chasseur, sulkily. 

" And the Countess of La Ronda as 
well?" said I. 

But here I met with firmer opposition. No 
threats of mine could induce them to give up 
the Countess. We tightened the cord. We 
moved the horse. We did all but leave the 
Marshal suspended. If once I broke his 
neck the dragoons were dead men. It was 
as precious to me as to them. 

"Allow me to remark," said the Marshal, 
blandly, " that you are exposing me to a risk 
of a quinsy. Do you not think, since there 
is a difference of opinion upon this point, 
that it would be an excellent idea to consult 
the lady herself? We would neither of us, I 
am sure, wish to over-ride her own inclina- 

Nothing could be more satisfactory. You 
can imagine how quickly I grasped at so 
simple a solution. In ten minutes she was 
before us, a most stately dame, with her 
grey curls peeping out from under her 
mantilla. Her face was as yellow as though 
it reflected the countless doubloons of her 

" This gentleman," said the Marshal, " is 
exceedingly anxious to convey you to a place 
where you will never see us more. It is for 
you to decide whether you would wish to go 
with him, or whether you prefer to remain 
with me." 

She was at his horse's side in an instant. 
" My own Alexis," she cried, " nothing can 
ever part us." 

He looked at me with a sneer upon his 
handsome face. 

" By the way, you made a small slip of 
the tongue, my dear Colonel," said he. 
" Except by courtesy, no such person exists 
as the Dowager Countess of La Ronda. The 
lady whom I have the honour to present to 




you is my very dear wife, Mrs. Alexis Morgan 
—or shall I say Madame la Mareehale Millc- 
fleurs ? " 

It was at this moment that I came to the 
conclusion that I was dealing with the 
cleverest, and also the most unscrupulous, 
man whom I had ever met. As I looked 
upon this unfortunate old woman my soul 
was filled with wonder and disgust As for 
her 3 her eyes were raised to his face with 

is nothing which I can do for you before you 


" There is one thing," 

"And that is?" 

" To give fitting burial to this young officer 
and his men," 

" I pledge my word to it" 

" And there is one other." 

14 Name it." 

(, To give me five minutes in the open with 

"her eves were raised to his face.* 

such a look as a young recruit might give to 
the Emperor, 

"So be it," said I, at last ; "give me the 
dragoons and let me go." 

They were brought out with their horses 
and weapons, and the rope was taken from 
the Marshal's neck. 

"Good-bye, my dear Colonel/* said he. 
" I am afraid that you will have rather a lame 
account to give of your mission, when you 
find your way back to Mass en a, though, 
from all I hear, he will probably be too busy 
to think of you, I am free to confess that 
you have extricated yourself from your 
difficulties with greater ability than I had 
given you credit for. I presume that there 

a sword in your hand and a horse between 
your legs,' 1 

" Tut, tut ! " said he. " I should either 
have to cut short your promising career, or 
else to bid adieu to my own bonny bride. It 
is unreasonable to ask such a request of a 
man in the first joys of matrimony," 

I gathered my horsemen together and 
wheeled them into column* 

" Au revoir," 1 cried, shaking my sword at 
him. "The next time you may not escape so 

" Au revoir/' he answered. "When you 
are weary of the Emperor, you will always 
find a commission waiting for you in the 
service of the Marshal Millefleurs." 


Notable Families* 

te\ r Albert II. Brgadwell, 


OW, when Mr. Gladstones 
familiar figure has deserted the 
hunches of the Commons, we 
all, as Englishmen! be we 
Liberals or Conservatives, 
Unionists or Radicals, admire 
him as a man, as a great English statesman, 
as a kind husband and loving father, whose 
descendants have been intrusted with the 
bearing of a name that will ever remain a 
shining light in the history of this country. 
Through the kind assistance of one member 
of Mr. Gladstone's family, we have the 
privilege of publish- 
ing here a complete 
set of portraits of his 
twenty-two direct de- 
scendants, with the 
addition of a few facts 
regarding them. 

The old people of 
Hawarden well re- 
member an interesting 
double event which 
occurred on July the 
25th, 1839, when Miss 
Catherine Glynne and 
Miss Mary Glynne, 
both known for their 
singular beauty and 
lovableness of cha- 
racter, were married 
respectively to Mr, \V. 
E. Gladstone and the 
late Lord Lyttelton. 
Mr, and Mrs. Glad- 
stone's golden wed- 
ding was observed 
locally on the 25th of 
July, 1889, by the 
erection of a fountain 
in Hawarden Village, 
This wedding was 
eventful for Ha warden, for, at the invitation 
of his brother-in-law, Sir Stephen Glynne, 
who never married, Mr. Gladstone made it 
his home, Hawarden was chosen because 
Mr. Gladstone had no call Tur residence else- 
where, except, perhaps, at his father's estate, 
Fasque, in Kincardineshire, where he paid 
regular visits with his family until Sir John 
Gladstone's death in 1851, 

Mr Gladstone's brother-in-law, the late Sir 
Stephen R, Glynne, then owner of the 


I I IK KliiHT H^K. W 

1 Phola. by H^rnf. d; Co. 

Hawarden Estate and Castle, had very early 
to face the changes and chances of life. His 
agent of the day, to whom everything was 
intrusted, brought, by rash speculations in 
iron, the estate to the verge of ruin, which it 
will yet take generations to repair. Mr, 
Gladstone was able to give great assistance in 
meeting this crisis. He himself also pur- 
chased properties in the vicinity, but, as is 
well known, he made over all his own pro- 
perty to his eldest son, not long after that 
son had succeeded by will Sir S + R. Glynne at 
his death, in 1S74, The castle and grounds 

belong, however, to 
Mrs. Gladstone for 

This surrender ol 
his property in land so 
many years ago was 
only characteristic of 
Mr, Gladstone's gene- 
ral principle in favour 
of devolving property 
and responsibility on 
the younger genera- 
tion t not when death 
compels, but when a 
sense of propriety 
commends it Thus 
Mr. Gladstone himself 
has long ago divided 
his living for the most 
part among his child- 
ren, while at the same 
time setting aside a 
large sum for the 
founding and endow- 
ment of St. Deiniol's 
Library and Hostel. 

It has often been 
one of his most grate- 
ful expressions that his 
children have never 
caused him, except by illness or death, a 
moment's anxiety; and he has, therefore, been 
able to see his way to make them all indepen 
dent many years before his old age set in. 

One of Mrs. Gladstone's gifts has been an 
intuitive knowledge in matters of health and 
nursing ; in fact, though Mrs. Gladstone has 
the greatest respect for doctors and nurses, 
she is herself an excellent doctor and nurse 
combined. Husband, children, and scores 
of friends and relations have had the benefit 




A'jTuJJl U.\ 

11KS. L'ATIIJiHINE GLADSTONE. {rhotoffriiph* 

of her skill and care. It must be said that 
in this respect, notwithstanding her present 
strength of constitution, she never re- 
membered to take much care of herself. 
Another gift is seen in the way in which by in- 
fluence and organizing power, by contempt for 
red tape and by ready resource, she has esta- 
blished and carried forward, for many years, 
valuable irvstitlltiplis by simple means and 
methods ; the Orphanage 
and the Little Home, both 
of which are near, or, rather, 
at, Ha warden Castle, are an 
example of this* Here she 
has spent much of her time, 
and latterly encouraged her 
grandchildren to do the like. 
In other words, Mrs. (i lad- 
stone is everybody's friend, 
and has an unlimited capa- 
city for entering, with real 
sympathy, into the sorrows 
of all with whom she comes 
in contact. 

It need hardly be said 
that Mr (Gladstone, with his 
blended gifts of tender feel- 
ing and sense of justice, has 
never had favourites in his 
own family, Circumstances 

Digitized by Google 

TIlK LATK mk. 

would bring him in contact much more with 
some than with others of the circle, but he 
always made it unmistakably felt that his 
heart and mind were equally large and equally 
ready for all 

The Gladstones are said to be a very 
argumentative family amongst themselves. 
Be this as it may, there have never been any 
serious differences of thought or feeling 
between Mr. and Mrs* Gladstone and their 
sons and daughters, even on those subjects 
of politics and religion which are productive 
of di (Term res in so many families, 

Mr. (Gladstone's direct descendants num- 
ber twenty-two in all, and their portraits, 
with notes, fullow here in chronological 
order :-■- 

First Chim>. — WruivM Hf.nrv Glad- 
stone, who married, in i#75, the Hon, 
Gertrude Stuart, daughter of Lord Blantyre ; 
was born June 3, 1840; and died July 4, iStjr. 
He was M.I\, J&65-H5 ; a Lord of Treasury, 
unpaid, 1869-74. ^ e studied at Eton and 
Christ Church, Oxford. At Eton he 
showed himself pre-eminent in Kitin and 
Greek verse, and excelled in football and 
f * fives." A great lover and student of 
ecclesiastical music, he set the music at 
Ha warden Church for many years, and often 
played the organ himself. He was close 
friends with nearly all the leading musicians 
— Qakeley, Ouseley, Stamer, Etvey, Wesley, 
Parrott, etc. He was devoted to his estate 
and country life, being fur many years a 
regular attendant at the Board of Guardians, 
He also took an active part in all parish 
affairs, was a most considerate and wise land- 
lordj and died in the prime of life and good 
health, of an illness 
probably resulting from 
a former accident. As an 
intense lover of the moun- 
tains, especially Swiss and 
Welsh, he knew every stone 
of Snowdonia. He was dis- 
tinguished for daring, com- 
bined with an excellent and 
cool judgment. On one 
occasion he fell into a 
crevasse on the Titlis, but 
was saved by the rope worn 
by the party of four, consist- 
ing of Mr. Charles Parker 
{late MJ\ for Perth), the 
Rev. S. E. Gladstone, and a 
friend. This, however, is 
not the accident referred to 
above. There is a beaut i fid 

ifM^S^ in n aP1roii? 1 iM ^ X of solid 



alabaster in Ha warden 
Church, by the organ. It 
reads as follows :— 
William Henrv Glad- 

Bora June 3rd, 1S4Q. 

Uniting the single-heartedness 
of childhood to the full develop- 
ment of his mental powers and 
10 high accomplishment, he 
closed in perfect peace a life of 
love and service lo God and 
man on July 4th, 189 l Placed 
by his father and mother 

Their three children are 
William Glynne Charles, 
born 1885; Evelyn Cathe- 
rine, born 1882 ; Con- 
stance Gertrude, born 
1883. It need not be said 
with what tender fondness 
Mr. and Mrs, Gladstone 
look upon the three chil- 
dren of their eldest son, 
whose happy and useful 
life was cut short by un- 
expected and early death. 
Especially since retiring 
Mr, Gladstone has seen 
and delights in their frequent visits to the 
Castle. Little Will is but ten years old, 
but he bids fair to follow in his father's 
and in his grandfather's steps. He has a 
remarkable blending of fun and serious- 
ness ; he is very fond of adventure* riding, 
and rural sports ; but he has a much deeper 
vein also in his character For eleven 
years more he will be a minor, and his 
mother, who devotes herself entirely to her 
children (though she also proves a most 
capable trustee, with an almost intuitive 
knowledge of people and things), is his sole 


From a Fketo. hg 

from public life, 
much of them, 

Watmott'jh Wtbittr. 

(so intimately 
known to Mr. 
and Mrs. Glad- 
stone), and the 
younger one 
more after her 
gran d fat her, 
Lord Blantvre. 
Both are full of 
life and energy, 
— Agnes, born 
1842 (Mrs, 
Wick ham), mar- 
ried 1873, Wife 

guardian. The beautiful 
inheritance of Hawarden 
passed to him at his 
father's death in 1891, it 
having been willed to 
him (as already stated) by 
his uncle, Sir Stephen 
Glynne, Mrs. Gladstone's 
brother. Mrs, Gladstone 
alone survives of the two 
sisters and brothers (the 
Rev. Henry Glynne, whose 
daughters are Mary, living 
still at Hawarden, and 
Lady Penrhyn), having 
outlived Sir Stephen 
Glynne, who died in 1874, 
Of the two daughters, 
Evelyn and Constance, the 
older may be said to take 
after her great-grand- 
mother, the previous 
Duchess of Sutherland 


From* Phota. btr II- & Mend*l*&ohii. 

FrmA « rhtitet by Q. Watmouyh Wrb$U.r 

Vol. *.-2& 

of the present Dean of Lincoln, for 
twenty years Head Master of Wel- 
lington College, 

Their children are : Catherine 
Mary Iavinia, born 1875 ; William 
Gladstone, born 1878; Lucy Chris- 
tian, born 1878 ; Margaret Agnes, 
born 1879; Edward Stephen Glad- 
stone, born 1883. Catherine, called 
Katie, is the eldest grandchild, 
and Mrs. Gladstone had the pleasure 
of seeing her grow up and of pre- 
senting her to the Queen two years 
ago, William, the eldest grand- 
son, in his early days at school 
(at Temple Grove and Winchester, 

uNfffeTrtrtKriflSAW* house * he 



is now completing his school life before 
entering the University), was known to 
stand up, against the % : ast majority of 

Ml 55 CATHEKLNE WICK HAM. U^ujk^mt^ 

his schoolfellows, for Liberalism and his 
grandfather. This, no one will gainsay, 
means a good deal in a schoolboy. 
Christian and Margaret are now complet- 
ing their education at St. Andrews, N.B* 
Little Edward is a charming 
blend of spirit and gentleness, ■ 

MK. W. ti t WICK HAM* 
From, a FAdfr, bv & Jtfodfcf, Lincot*. 

and a general favourite wher- 
ever he goes. 

Third Child, — Stephen 
Edward. Born 1844. Four 


From a } -'...?■ . ■«? .r ,, -'1. 

years Curate of S. 
Mary-t he-Less, 
Lambeth, under 
Dean Gregory* He 
became Rector of 
Hawarden in 1872, 
and married, in 
1885, Miss Annie 
C. Wilson, Liver- 
pool, daughter of 
Dr, Wilson, 

Their children 
are Catherine, born 
1885; Albert 
Charles, born 1886 ; 
Charles Andrew, 
born 1889; Ste- 
phen Deiniol, born 
1892 ; Edith, born 
1895. Catherine 
is (so far) the only 
Catherine Glad- 
stone (her grand- 
mother's name) 
amongst Mr. Glad- 
stone's direct de- 
^/E3* al scendants. Albert 





fr™ a Photo, by G, Watmottah Wtbtter. 

Charles is the constant 
and devoted companion 
of his elder sister, and 
both are very fond of 
books. Charles Andrew 
was so called after the 
great physician, Sir An- 
drew Clark, for many years 
the beloved and trusted 
medical attendant of Mr. 
and Mrs. Gladstone and 
all their family. It is not 
too much to say that he 
was one of the very few 
who were the most inti- 
mate friends of Mr. Glad- 
stone. This little boy 
was Sir Andrew Clark's 

TiintufiAOT^ fJrnMetiu?r 
Sirtrt, is. W, 


godson. Stephen Dciniolwas so called after the 
patron saint and founder of Hawarckn Church, 

Sr'. \ratmtntffh tt'rhtttr. 

From a rhfita. by (t Walmmigh. fP&lffcr., 

first Bishop of Bangor about 550 a.d, 
Mr, Gladstone has also called his 
ibrary and hostel after this name. 
Edith is Mr, Gladstone's youngest 
grandchild. Mr, and Mrs. Gladstone 
^tended her baptism in the parish 
church when, she was three days old, 
jusV , Btt^fcwflf lf ibroad last January. 



Frotn a Photo, hv &. Watmouffh Wehtter. 

Fourth Child. — Jessie Catherine, 
born July 27, 1845 ! di^d April 9, 1850* 
A lovely and precious child, of whose last 
illness Mr. Gladstone wrote, from hour to 
hour, a very full and close account in a 
private diary, which still exists as a monu- 
ment of fatherly anxiety and affection, show- 
ing how he followed with the utmost keenness 
every least turn in the painful illness which 
resulted in the first, but not the last, death 
within the number of his own children, Mr. 

JK'-.-vi a Painlinff in Havarden C*l*ilr 

Gladstone bore the little body (Jessie was not 
yet five years old) to Fasque, and placed it 
in the vault of the little Episcopal chapel 
built by his father, where he also was present 
at the interment of so many others near and 
dear to him, especially his parents^ two sisters, 
eldest brother, and others. 

Fifth Child. — Mary, born 1847. 
Married to the Rev, Harry Drew. They 
have one child, namely, Dorothy Mary 

Catherine, born in 1890. Mrs. Drew has 
almost always lived with her falher and 
mother, and her marriage has made no 
difference in this. The birth of Little Dorothy 
was the addition of a sunbeam in the house 
and home of the old people. The child's 
bright and intelligent ways, her quaint talk, 
her romantic appearance and bare feet are 


Mwb o Portrait hy Sir Edmani Bum^Jvtt?*. 

amongst the characteristics which make her 
so well known and loved, 

Sixth Child,— Helen, born 1849* For 
many years connected with Newnham College, 
Cambridge, where she has latterly been head 
of one of the two halls ; we have already 
had the pleasure of publishing this lady's 

From n f'hato. hy FauStntr, }iakrr Stretl, W. 

photographs at different ages in The 
Strand Magazine a short time ago, together 
with a short bkgraphieal sketch, 




Seventh Child. — 
Henry Neville, born 
1852. He married the 
Hon. Maud Ernestine, 
daughter of Lord RendeL 
Mr, FL N, Gladstone is a 
merchant of London and 
Calcutta, and formerly 
spent some ten years in 
India, hard at work, His 
father thought from early 
times that he showed the* 
business capacity which 
distinguished his grand- 
father, Sir John Glad- 
stone. Ml Gladstone 
has always had a high 
respect for the merchant 
life, as giving opportunity 
for the development and 
exercise, under discip- 
line, of some of the 
noblest qualities in 
human nature. 

Eighth Child, — Herbert 
John, born 1854. The Right 
Hon, Herbert J. Gladstone, 
M.P,, is, as alt know, a familiar 
figure in politics, He is a most 
devoted son and uncle. A short 
account of his life and his 
portraits at different ages have 
already appeared in our July 

To wind up this interesting 
record of one of our greatest 
families, it will be interesting to 
give a little story which refers 
especially to Mr. and Mrs. Glad- 
stone's children. One day 
it was arranged to give the 
children a treat, with an in- 
tended picnic tea and bon- 
fire in the old castle. Sir 
Stephen Glynne, of all men 
the most generous and 
noble -hearted, freely allowed 
the public to use the castle 
and park, but did not permit 
picnics and fires in the old 

M1£>S HhLt:J tjLAlLi&TON£+ 

f-rom u Photo, by Window c f Grvre. 

From a Photograph, 

castle. It was then 
planned to play a prac- 
tical joke on the fond 
uncle, and Mr, and Mrs. 
Gladstone were made 
partners in the plot 
They were to take Sir 
Stephen Glynne for a 
walk in the direction of 
the old castle, -where a 
fire had heen lit. He 
soon saw the smoke in 
the trees and was much 
perturbed, and advanced 
with his companions to 
see who dared to break 
his rules. There, to be 
sure, was the fire, and 
the kettles by it, and T 
ensconced under the 
ruins, a party of children 
and older folk, looking 
like gipsies, enjoying a 
well-spread tea on the grass. Sir 
Stephen Glynne was horrified, 
and Mr, and Mrs. Gladstone 
advised him to go up to the 
party, thinking he would re- 
cognise his nephews and nieces 
and their nurses. They were 
so well disguised, however, that, 
on coming up and strongly re- 
monstrating with the head of the 
party (the nurse, a sturdy Scotch- 
woman, who stuck to her guns 
in the parley), he failed to see 
the joke. His dUmay was much 
increased when, on looking at 
the well-spread tablecloth, he 
saw his own china and 
other materials, but what 
could he do with such a 
brazen-faced lot ? Il was 
then that Mr, and Mrs. 
Gladstone told him to look 
more closely at the faces, 
and so at last he discovered 
the little game, and heartily 
joined in the consequent 

From a Fhato. by Huttcii it Hon*, 

fWe hope to publish in an early number the portraits nf Itard, Salisbury's Family*] 




ND may I not fight the Prus- 
sians^ papa? I am strong 
enough, I know — and a big 
boy, too ! " 

" Hush, hush. What idle 
talk is this ? Fight the Prus- 
sians ? A fine idea ! What could a little 
boy like you do in a great war ? Tut, tut, 
child, don't talk nonsense Come, drill your 
soldiers ! l> 

Here Captain Etienne Maury picked up 
some miniature wooden soldiers, which were 
lying scattered about the floor, and proceeded 
to place them side by side — bolt upright— on 
the table. But his little son did not appear 
to be interested in the toys — Etienne could 
see that the child's lips were quivering, and 
that his large, blue eyes were filling with 
tears. Then, drawing him gently to his side, 
Maury caressed him tenderly, 

" What is the matter, my little Pierre ? 
There, now, don't cry— why, that is not 
manly ! " 

" I want — I want " — began Pierre, between 
his sobs— 1 ' I want to fight the Prussians ! " 

H Well, well, never mind — you shall be- 
come a soldier all in good time, 13 replied his 
father. Then he turned to the child's 
mother, who was busily preparing the mid- 
day meal : " What do you think of our 

A Story for Children, 

By Minnie Mortimer, 

son ? Is he not promising ? He has 
ambition, eh ? " 

Madelon said nothing, but shrugged her 
shoulders and glanced at her husband and 
sighed. Since war had broken out between 
France and Germany, she had not seen him 
until to-day — when it chanced that the 
general commanding the district had or- 
dered Maury's regiment to Harville to meet 
an expected attack of the Prussian advanced 
guard, on the march to Paris. Captain 
Maury, on learning that his duty brought 
him near his home for the first time since 
the terrible reverse of Sedan, was naturally 
overjoyed at the prospect of embracing his 
wife and children, who were no less delighted 
when the long-absent one sent them a 
message from camp that he had obtained 
leave of absence for a few hours, and 
would soon clasp the dear ones in his 
arms. Until the outbreak of hostilities, the 
married life of the young officer had been 
one of unclouded happiness. He was de- 
votedly attached to his sweet and gentle wife, 
whilst his love for their two children amounted 
almost to idolatry. Little Pierre we have 
already seen ; let us now briefly describe his 
sister, Doroth^e, the boy's junior by nearly 
two years. 

Doroth^e was tall for her age She 
was not what is called pretty, but her 
face indicated intelligence and perhaps 
self-will. Her large, sad eyes might have 
belonged to one of much greater age and 
experience, who had seen scarcely aught but 
the dark side of life, rather than to a little 
girl of scarcely seven years. But Doroth£e 
was a strange child, and by no means easy 
to comprehend. She had few companions or 
playmates of her own age r and showed no in- 

terest W-MW^CT.?^ her children - 

DOROTH&ES kiss. 


Her walks were usually taken alone, and 
her greatest pleasure was to seek out a solitary 
nook, where she often remained alone for 
hours, absorbed in some weird fairy tale or 
story of enchantment When her father had 
returned home so unexpectedly after his long 
absence, Dorothge's delight was unbounded 
for the first few moments of his presence; 
but if the truth must be told, she soon with- 
drew quietly into a corner and gave herself 
up to her thoughts. She understood but 
vaguely why " papa " had been away so long 
— and hitherto had made no effort to pene- 
trate the mystery of " fighting the Prussians," 
of which she had heard so much during his 
protracted absence. But now she suddenly 
became curious to know what it all meant 
Why should her father fight the Prussians ? 
Why could he not leave such pugnacious 
proceedings to other men, and stay at home? 

" Papa," said she, " will the Prussians kill 

Etienne, who had been carefully aiding 
Pierre to arrange his soldiers in their little 
box, glanced at Dorothle with contracted 

" I cannot say, darling," he replied, slowly. 
" I hope that God will spare me to you many 

" What a question to ask of your father ! " 
exclaimed Madelon, indignantly — alarmed at 
the bare idea of losing her husband. 

"Well, why can't papa stay here — why 
should he fight ? " demanded the little one. 

" Don't talk of things you do not under- 
stand, child," returned her mother. " Come 
and drink your soup — you are certainly grow- 
ing too curious — that is an ugly fault ! " 

And Dorothde, with a wondering look, 
drew her chair up to the table and began her 
meal in silence. 

Outwardly, she appeared to be cold and 
unconcerned. Inwardly, her little heart was 
troubled about " papa." Would he die ? He 
had remained unharmed as yet, but perhaps 
the Prussians would kill him before long ! 
No, she would not ask him again — she did 
not like to. Should she climb upon his knee 
and tell him how much she loved him ? No 
— she was too proud to betray her feelings. 
Her question : " Will the Prussians kill 
you?" had certainly damped her parents' 
spirits. Doroth^e could see that her father 
was troubled, and that her mother appeared 
anxious — why, there were even tears in her 
eyes ! "It is all my fault," thought the 
little girl, and she felt sorry and ashamed, 
but dared not admit the fact 

"Papa will never love me again," she 

mused, sadly ; " perhaps he doesn't want 
me here^he will forget all about Doroth£e — 
and he won't kiss me ' good-bye ' before he 
leaves us." Then the child quietly stole 
away, and crept softly upstairs. Throwing 
herself upon the cot in her own little room, 
she sobbed bitterly for a long time, until at 
last, exhausted by her grief, she fell fast 

When Doroth^e awoke, she was surprised 
to find that the daylight had faded, for 
the room was wrapped in darkness. She 
was in bed, too — and clothed in her night- 

"Mamma must have undressed me," 
thought she. Then she sat up and rubbed 
her eyes. 

"Why, papa has surely gone! And I 
never bade him good-bye. Ah, but that is 
my own fault" 

She sprang from her bed, and groping her 
way towards the door opened it softly. How 
silent everything seemed ! They must have 
gone to bed. Yes, she could hear heavy 
breathing proceeding from her mother's 

"Then it is late," thought DorotWe. 

At that moment, a neighbouring church 
clock began to strike the hour. The child 
listened attentively. It was eleven o'clock. 
She returned to her room, lit the candle on 
the mantelshelf, and softly drew aside the 
window curtains. Peering into the street 
below, she could just discern that all was 
dark and silent 

" So papa has gone, without saying good- 
bye to me. Why didn't he come and wake 
me ? Perhaps I shall never see him again — 
the cruel Prussians may kill him." 

Tears filled her eyes. She turned and 
picked up a little picture of her father, and 
pressed it to her lips. 

" Oh, that I could really kiss him ! " sighed 

Struck by a sudden impulse, she gently 
closed the curtains and commenced to dress 
herself hastily. 

This occupied but a few minutes. Then 
mounting a chair, she unhooked her hood 
and cloak, which hung upon the door. Care- 
fully placing the miniature in the bosom of 
her dress, she extinguished the light, and with 
many precautions crept downstairs and left 
the house, after unbolting the street door with 
some difficulty. 

Doroth^e had made up her mind to find 
"papa," at all hazards, and to press a kiss 
upon bis Epfty 0FM | CH | GAN 



On she nurried through the darkness. 
Though she knew where her father's regiment 
was encamped, she was ignorant of the way 

"My good angel will surely guide my 
steps," thought the child, while onward she 
wandered — she knew not where. At length 
Doroth£e found herself in the open country, 
apparently in a field, hedged in with waving 
bushes, which sighed and moaned in the 
night breeze. She did not dream that she 
was but a few yards from where the French 
had pitched their tents. 

Suddenly the little girl heard stealthy foot- 
steps behind her. A fear which she could 
not account for seized her, and spying a bush 
close by, she crouched behind it, trembling 
from head to foot. She peered cautiously 
through its branches and beheld a tall, dark 
figure approaching. As it drew nearer, she 
quickly noted that it was a man, and resem- 
bled her father in stature — so much, indeed, 
that she sprang forward, crying out in glad 
tones : — 

" Papa, papa, c'est toi ! c'est toi ! " 

DorotMe rushed eagerly into the arms 
extended to her, but drew back surprised 
and disappointed, when a stranger's voice 
addressed her : — 

" What art thou doing here at this time of 
night, little one ? " 

His tone was gruff, though not unkindly. 
The child hesitated a moment. 

" Who are you ? " she asked, at length ; " a 
soldier ! like papa ? " 

" Undoubtedly." 

" And do you belong to papa's regiment ? " 
she demanded. 

The other muttered to himself something 
in a language unintelligible — to Doroth£e, 
and then replied : — 

" Most assuredly." 

" Please take me to papa, then, because I 
want to kiss him good-bye. You see," she 
continued, sadly, " I was asleep when he left 
us, and he forgot all about me, I know." 

" Oh, I don't think so," returned the 
stranger. "Why do you wish to kiss him? 
You love him so dearly — eh ? " 

"Yes," eagerly assented Dorothde, "and 
if I don't see him to-night, perhaps I shall 
never kiss him again." 

" Eh ? What's that ? Well, and pray, why 

" Because the Prussians may kill him ! " 

The other stroked the child's soft cheek — 
he was troubled evidently, for he shook his 
head sadly and murmured : — 

" Poor little one— poor little one 1 " 

Doroth^e burst into tears. 

" There now, don't cry," he continued. 
"I advise you to run home as fast as you 

" No, no, I . want to find papa — I ^must 
kiss him. Oh, monsieur, I beseech you to 
take me to him ! " 

" That is impossible. For I have an im- 
portant message to deliver in quite another 
direction — and I must hasten there at once. 
The duty of a soldier, you know, is to obey. 
Now listen : Run home quickly and let me 
bear the kiss to your father. I shall return 
to the spot where he is stationed, early to- 
morrow morning — and therefore can easily 
deliver your message of love. Come, what 
do you say to that?" 

"If you will promise," began Doroth£e, 

" Yes, yes ; you may trust me. What is 
your father's name ? " 

" Etienne Maury.' 

" Describe him." 

" Why, you know him, don't you ? " 

"Well — no; you see, I am a stranger in 
his regiment comparatively, and I haven't 
yet had time to look about me and to re- 
cognise the different faces." 

" I have a picture of him," said Doroth£e. 

" Good ! Give it to me — or lend it, and I 
will show it to your father to-morrow." 

" And will you kiss him for me ? " 

" That, I promise." 

The soldier then lifted the child in his 
arms, and she entwined her own around 
his neck ; then, softly kissing his cheek, she 
said : — 

" Take care of papa ; don't let the Prus- 
sians kill him." 

Again she pressed her lips to his cheek — 
and felt that it was wet with tears. 

" Why do you cry ? " she asked. 

" Poor little one ! " he replied, in a broken 
voice ; " tell me, what is your name ? " 

" Dorothfe." 

"Then, dear little Doroth^e, run home 
quickly. Do you know your way? Where 
do you live ? " 

The child told him. 

" Part of the distance lies in my direction, 
so you may come with me." 

Clasping her still in his arms, the soldier 
strode on, and when they drew near the town 
he placed her gently on her feet, and left 

He continued his way with a heavy heart, 
and carrying the miniature. 

" What is to be done ? " he asked himself. 


22 5 


Perhaps, though, one of my comrades may 
save me the unpleasant task. Poor little 
one ! She did not guess into whose hands 
she had fallen, nor that she had unconsciously 
betrayed her father and his companions. 
No, no, I must inform my commander — 
besides, I have promised to deliver his child's 
kiss to this Maury, What! — to my enemy? 
Well, for all that, I will endeavour to prove 
true to my word. * Take care of papa ; don't 
let the Prussians kill him.' Poor child ! 
poor child ! " 

He passed his hand across his eyes, for 
they were moist with tears. You can guess 
now that this soldier was an enemy to the 
French — in fact, a Prussian. He and several 
of his comrades had been sent hither by 
one of the German commanders as spies. 
A division of the invading army was near at 
hand, and the general in command had 
given orders to reconnoitre the French 
detachment encamped in the vicinity, with 
the intention of 

Vol. *.-2B, 

attacking them the nest 

morning at dawn! Fritz Grau — the soldier 
with whom we have become acquainted 
- had arranged with his fellow-scouts 
that each should choose a different direc- 
tion, and meet at midnight at the spot 
where they were about to part. He did 
not dream that such speedy success would 
fall to his dangerous mission, and when 
Dorothfc had unconsciously given him the 
information he required, he was delighted. 
But afterwards he became touched to the 
heart, especially when the child had said : — 
"Take care of papa; don J t let the Prus- 
sians kill him." 

" I will take care of him — God 
grant ! " he exclaimed, at length. 

When he met his comrades at the 
agreed rendezvous one of their num- 
ber hailed him as follows r — 

" Grau — all is well ! The French 
are discovered, thanks to myself ! " 
u Excellent on your part ! " ejacu- 
lated Fritz, but he did not inform 
them of his adventure — and was 
secretly thankful that another should 
bear the information he had ob- 
tained at the risk of his life. 

The German spies, after having 
exchanged a few whispered words, went their 
way in silence, each engrossed with his own 
thoughts. Meanwhile^ DorotWe had arrived 
home safely, finding, to her joy, that the door 
IkhI not been closed during her absence. She 
entered the house softly, and creeping to her 
room, went silently to bed — but did not fall 
asleep until daylight 


Early the following morning, the French 
were surprised by the enemy, Fritz Grau, it 
must be mentioned, had managed to take a 
hasty glance at the photograph, when Maury's 
every feature became speedily impressed on 
his mind. He had then hidden the picture 
about his person. 

The skirmish proved fierce indeed, and 
promised to end disastrously for the French, 
attacked by overwhelming numbers. They 
saw this, but did not lose heart Grau, being 
in the foremost ranks, searched intently 
amongst the French soldiers nearest his gaze, 
hoping to perceive Maury, but he did not, 
much to his disappointment. At last, how- 
ever, he discovered him in the thickest of the 
fray, fighting desperately. The recognition 
was instantaneous. He saw that the young 
officer was making havoc among the 
Prussians, of whom several had already 

fall nito*ifa^.v,fcte<pp e dme > Fritz 



managed to advance a fW paces nearer 
Etienne. At this juncture Maury mortally 
wounded Grau's nearest comrade. The 
brave Frenchman was now in his (Fritz's) 
power — the Prussian could have shot 
him then and there, but he thought of 
Dorothea and spared him, though only to 
fall the next instant— yes, shot down by 
Maury ! As he fell s never to rise again, 
Etienne could see that he wished to speak 
with him. He hesitated a moment, then he 
knelt beside the dying man. 

" Bend down," murmured Grau, faintly ; 
* 4 there is but short time for an explanation. 
I wish to give you a message of love from 
your little daughter, I>oroth£e, Last night 
she pressed a kiss for you upon my cheek — I 
have promised to deliver it." 

Wonder ingly, Maury allowed the Prussian 
to carry out his desire, the desire of his child, 

"Ah, I am satisfied. Unbutton my coat 
— your picture is hidden there; I must re- 
turn it you/' 

Etienne obeyed the dying soldier, and drew 
the photograph from its hiding-place* There 
was no time to ask the questions which hung 
upon his lips— the Prussian was dying. The 
next instant, he fell back lifeless, and Maury 
reverently closed the eyes of the dead, breath- 
ing a prayer for the departed soul. 

At noon, the French troops marched joy- 
fully back to the 
town. The Prus- 
sians had suf- 
fered a complete 
repulse, and 
had lost half 
their men, while 
the other side 
had incurred 

comparatively little loss. Etienne was 
among the victorious throng, with not even 
so much as a scratch. But his thoughts 
were more with Fritz than with the glory 
of victory* He was puzzled somewhat, 
and longed to see his little daughter again 
—more than any other member of his 

When Etienne Maury at last returned 
home, he gathered from Doroth^e the story 
of her meeting with the soldier. She told 
him all — and was astonished when her 
father informed her that the stranger was 
a Prussian, 

" But no enemy, papa," she said ; 
**he faithfully kissed you for me, as he 
promised, and gave you the photograph. 
You will love me a little more now, won't 
you ? n 

Etienne did not answer, but he folded the 
child in his arms and covered her with 

" Pierre and l">oroth£e shall receive an 
equal share of papa's love," he answered, at 
length. Then he continued : " My little 
daughter perhaps is not aware that she 
betrayed her father to the Prussians ? " 

11 Did I ? " she exclaimed, with wide- 
opened eyes, 

" There, never mind, you are too young 
to understand such serious things," He 
had guessed that Fritz was a spy, " Poor 

fellow!" he 
sighed, 4t he only 
performed his 
duty. His was a 
generous heart : 
he proved it by 
Doroth£e's kiss. 
God rest his 



From Behind the Speakers Chair. 



ONE night early in the last 
dumb Session of the Rosebery Parlia- 

bells. merit a breathless messenger 
brought news to the Serjeant- 
at-Arms that the bells would not ring. 
It happened that an important division, 
on which the fate of the Government de- 
pended, was within measurable distance. 
The House of Commons and its precincts 
are connected by an elaborate system of 
electric bells, commanded from the seat of 
the principal doorkeeper. When a division 
is called he touches a knob and, lo ! in the 
smoking room, dining-room, tea-room, library, 
along all the corridors, upstairs and down- 
stairs, there throbs the tintinnabulation of the 

This phenomenon is so familiar, and works 
with such unerring regularity, that members 
absolutely depend upon it, absenting them- 
selves from the Chamber with full confidence 
that, as long as they remain in the building, 
they cannot miss a division. The only places 
ill the Palace at Westminster frequented 
by members of the House of Commons 
which the electric bells do not command are 
the bar and the galleries of the House of 
Lords. On the few occasions when attractive 
debate is going for- 
ward in the other 
Chamber, drawing 
to the audience a 
contingent of mem- 
bers of the House 
of Commons, 
special arrange- 
ments are made for 
announcing a divi- 
sion. A troop of 
messengers stand 
in the lobby like 
hounds in leash. 
At the signal of a 
division, they set off 
at the top of their 
speed, racing down 
the corridor, across 
the central lobby, 
into the Lords' 
lo bby, and so, 
breathless, bring 
the news to Ghent 

In an instant all 

is commotion in the space within the 
House of Lords allotted to the Com- 
mons. The time between signalling a 
division and closing the doors of the House 
of Commons. against would-be participants 
is t nominally, two minutes. This is jealously 
marked by a sand-glass which stands on the 
clerks' table. When it empties, the doors 
are locked, the Speaker puts the ques- 
tion for the second time, and only those 
within hearing may vote. Two minutes 
is a somewhat narrow space of time 
for the double event of the race of the 
messengers to the door of the House of 
Ix>rds and the rally of legislators to the 
door of the House of Commons, The 
always- waiting crowd of strangers in the lobby 
are on such occasions much astonished to 
find tearing along — some handicapped by 
years or undue weight of flesh, most of them 
out of training and breath — a long string of 

From any of the ante-chambers of the 
House of Commons the race can be com- 
fortably done under the stipulated time. 
But when electric bells fail, the situation 
becomes serious. With such majorities as 
the late Government commanded, the aoi- 


riginal from 









dently an 

dent of half-a-dozen or a dozen of 
supporters missing the call might, 
finally did, lead to defeat and dissolution. 
Happily, on the occasion here recorded, notice 
of the failure had been duly conveyed to 
the Serjeant-at-Arms, In order to avoid 
catastrophe, the police and messengers were 
specially organized. Each man had his 
appointed beat When the signal was given 
he was to run along it, roaring " Division ! 
Division ! " It was rather an exciting pas- 
time, but it succeeded, and the Ministry 
were for the time saved. 

When workmen arrived on the 
scene and traced the accident to 
its source, it was discovered that 
the central wire had become dis- 

It was evi- 
accident, but 
it suggests possibilities 
which certainly on one 
occasion were realized. 
It happened in the 
earliest days of Irish ob- 
struction, A little band, 
under the captaincy of 
Mr. Parnell, fought with 
their backs to the wall 
against the united Saxon 
host. All-night sittings 
were matters of constant 
occurrence* About this 
time the St Stephen's 
Club was opened, and 
the Conservative wing 
cheerfully availed them- 
selves of the opportunity 
of varying the monotony 
of long sittings by going 
across to dine. A special 
doorway opened out from 
the club on to the under- 
ground passage between 
the Houses of Parliament and the Metro- 
politan District Kail way Station, which the 
Committee of the House of Commons, before 
whom the Company's Bill came, insisted 
upon as a condition of passing it. The club 
dining room was connected with the House of 
Commons by an electric bell, an extension of 
the system which called to divisions members 
within the precincts of the House. A series 
of experiments demonstrated that the division 
lobby could be reached in good time if the 
summons were promptly answered. 

One night, to wards the close of a fighting 
Session, the Irish members moved an amend 
ment to the passing of the Annual Mutiny Bill. 
They loudly protested their intention of sitting 


all night if necessary to delay, if it were not 
possible to defeat, the Government Kill. In 
view of this prospect, a good dinner, leisurely 
eaten at the St. Stephen's Club, promised an 
agreeable and useful break in the sitting. 
Just before eight o'clock the Gentlemen of 
England trooped off to the club. They were 
not likely to be wanted for the division 
till after midnight If by accident a division 
w T ere sprung upon the House, the bell would 
clang here as it did in the Commons' dining- 
room, and they would bolt off to save the State. 
Nothing happened. They ate 
anxious their dinner in peace and quiet- 
moments. ness, and, strolling back about 
half-past ten, were met at the 
lobby door by the desperate Whip, who, in 
language permitted only 
to Whips and the Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the 
British Army, reproached 
them with their deser- 
tion. They learned to 
their dismay that soon 
after eight o'clock the 
Irish members had per- 
mitted the debate to 
collapse- Ministers, grate- 
ful for the deliverance 
and assured of a majority, 
made no attempt to pro- 
long it The bells clanged 
along the corridors and 
through all the rooms. 
The Irish members mus- 
tered in full force. Minis- 
terialists trickled in in 
surprisingly small num- 
bers. It was no business 
of the Liberal Opposition 
to help the Government 
on this particular issue. 
They had gone off com- 
fortably to dinner. The Ministerial Whips 
had in hand, dining in the House, sufficient 
to make a quorum. Presently the St 
Stephen's contingent would come rushing in, 
and all would be well. 

Mr Hart Dyke whipped his men into the 
lobby. The face of Mr. Rowland Winn 
grew stonier and stonier as he stood at the 
top of the stairway waiting for the hurried 
tramp of the diners-out. But Sister Anne 
saw no one coming, and just managed 
to get back herself before the doors closed. 
Ministers had a majority, but it was an 
exceedingly small one. 

Investigation revealed the curious fact that 
the b^^^j^tfjffl underground 



passage between the House and the St. 
Stephen's Club had been cut. Of course, it 
was never — at least, hardly ever— known who 
did it 

Richard Doyle, familiarly known 
sir Robert as if Dicky," was, at 
peel, least, once present at 

a debate in the House 
of Commons. The occasion was 
fortunate for posterity, since it 
chanced upon the night of the 
maiden speech of the late Sir 
Robert Pee!, son of the great 
Commoner, whose last wish it was 
that he might " leave a name 
remembered by expression of 
good-will in those places which 
are the abode of men whose lot 
it is to labour and to earn 
their daily bread by the sweat 

Dicky Doyle, after a fashion still 
to his brethren and successors on the Punch 
staff, was accustomed to illustrate his private 
correspondence with pen-and-ink sketches. 
In a letter dated from 17, Cambridge 
Terrace t Hyde Park, March 27th, 1851, 
Doyle sent to Lady Duff Gordon a sketch 
of the then new member for Tain worth, 
which, by the courtesy of Mr. Fisher Unwin, 
R C G. is permitted here to reproduce. 
The letter will be found, with much other 
interesting matter, in Mistress Janet Ross's 
M Three Generations of Eng- 

"Through the 

kindness of the 

Speaker," Doyle 

writes, "I have 
been permitted every evening 
almost during the ' Aggres- 
sion ' debates to sit in that 
part of the House of Com- 
mons devoted to the peers 
and foreign Ministers. Under 
which of these denominations 
I passed it is impossible for 
me to decide, but we will 
suppose it was a diplomatic 
1 poor J relation from Rome. 
In this distinguished position 
I heard the speeches of Sir 
James Graham with delight, 
of Mr, Newdegate with drowsi- 
ness, of Mr Drummond with 
shame mingled with indigna- 
tion, of the new Sir Robert 
Peel with surprise and con- 
tempt. This (the sketch) is 


of their 





what the last-named gentleman is like. How 
like his father, you will instantly say. His 
appearance created in the ( House' what Miss 
Talbot's did in the fashionable world, accord- 
ing to Bishop Hendren, a * sensation'; and 
when he rose to speak, shouts of 
' New member !' rose from every 
side, and expectation rose on tip- 
toe, while interest was visible in 
every upturned and outstretched 
countenance, and the bu^z of 
eager excitement prevailed in the 
* first assembly of gentlemen in 
the world.' There he stood, lean- 
ing upon a walking-stick, which 
from its bulk you would have 
fancied he carried as a weapon of 
defence, young and rather hand- 
some, but with a somewhat fierce 
and, I would say, truculent look about 
the eyes ; hair brown, plentiful" and curly, 
shirt collar turned down, and, O shade of his 
father ! a large pair of moustaches upon his 
Republican -looking 'mug*!!! He has a 
manly voice and plenty of confidence, and 
his speech made up by its originality what it 
wanted in common -sense, and was full of 
prejudice, bigotry, and illiberal Radicalism, 
while it lacked largeness of view, and was 
destitute of statesmanship." 

That is to say, the new member differed 
entirely from Doyle on the subject under dis- 
cussion. Whence these remarks which show 
that, in the matter of political 
criticism, things did not greatly 
differ in the Exhibition Year 
from the manner in which they 
run to-day. 

Sir Robert Peel 
was elected mem- 
ber for Tarn worth 
in 1850, and had 
not been in the House many 
months when he made hts 
maiden speech. To the end 
he succeeded in sustaining 
that interest of the House of 
Commons which the shrewd, if 
prejudiced, observer in the 
Distinguished Strangers' 
Gallery noted forty-four years 
ago. There was a time when 
Sir Robert promised to sustain 
in the political and Parliamen- 
tary world the high reputation 
with which his name had been 
endowed by his illustrious 
father. He was promptly made 
J^V'ERSIWC^^il^flHteAhirreasun^, and 




in 1 86 1 I>ord Palmerston promoted him to 
the post of Chief Secretary for Ireland. Sir 
Robert was always original, and he asked to 
be relieved from this post for a reason Mr. 
Arthur Balfour and Mr. John Morley will 
contemplate with amazed interest. There 
was not enough for him to do, he said, and 
he must needs clear out 

He sat for Tarn worth through an uninter- 
rupted space of thirty years. The wave of 
Radical enthusiasm that brought Mr. Glad- 
stone into power in 1880 swept away Sir 
Robert Peel and many others, whose 
Liberalism was not sufficiently robust for the 
crisis. For four years he was out of Parlia- 
ment. But his heart, untravelled, fondly turned 
to the scene with which his family traditions 
and the prime of his own life were closely 
associated In 1884 he returned as member 
for Huntingdon, to find fresh lustre added to 
the name of Peel. His brother 
had, in the previous month, been 
elected Speaker, and the House 
was already beginning to recog- 
nise in him supreme ability for 
the post 

I have to this day a vivid recol- 
lection of the play of Sir Robert's 
lips and the twinkle in his eye 
when Sir Erskine May, then still 
Chief Clerk, brought him up in 
the usual fashion to introduce 
him to the Speaker. Sir Robert 
bowed with courtly grace, and 
held out his hand with respectful 
gesture towards his new acquaint- 
ance. One mindful for the 
decorum of Parliamentary pro- 
ceedings could not help being 
thankful when the episode was 
oven There was something in 
Sir Robert's face, something in 
his rolling gait as he approached 
the Chair, that would not have 
made it at all astonishing if 
he had heartily slapped the 
Speaker on the shoulder, or even playfully 
poked him in the ribs, and observed, 
" Halloa, old fellow I Who'd have thought 
of finding you here ? (Had to see you ! n 

That Sir Robert was not to be 
warned off from the use of col- 
loquialisms hy seriousness of 
surroundings was often proved 
during the latter portion of his 
Parliamentary career. On the 
historic night in the Session of 1878, when 
the House of Commons was thrown into a 
state of consternation by a telegram received 





from Mr, Layard, announcing that the 
Russians were at the gates of Constanti- 
nople, Sir Robert Peel airily lectured 
the House in general, Mr. Gladstone and 
Mr. Bright in particular, for "squabbling 
about little points," A bolder and better 
remembered passage in his speech occurred 
to him when discussing a vote in Committee 
of Supply on account of a so-called work of 
art just added to the national store by the 
sculptor Boehiru Sir Robert's peculiar pro- 
nunciation of the word, his dramatic sniffing 
of the nostrils as he looked round, and his 
exclamation, l * Boehm ? Boehm? It smeliS 
an English name," immensely delighted an 
after-dinner audience. 

TWO SERVICES*"*- bSt tlme l f W J! 1 R ° b T 

JT tT MlD reel was at bt Margarets 

A I bL MAR- ^1 1 , . c 

Church, on the occasion of 
the wedding of his niece, the 
Speaker's daughter to Mr + Roch- 
fort Maguire, He came in late 
and stayed for awhile, looking 
upon the scene from the top of 
the aisle. His bright face, upright 
figure, and general bearing gave 
no premonition of the fact that 
three weeks later> to the very day, 
St. Margaret's Church would be 
filled again, partly by the same 
congregation, and once more the 
occasion closely connected with 
the Peel family history. But now 
the wedding chimes were hushed ; 
the funeral bells took up the 
story, telling how, at that hour, 
in the parish church where his 
father had worshipped and where 
he had himself slumbered 
through long sermons in school- 
boy days, the second Sir Robert 
Peel was laid to his final rest 

Many years ago, on 
an Atlantic steamer 
outward bound, I 
made the acquaint- 
ance of a notable man. It was at the time when, 
long before South Africa had become Tom 
Tiddler's ground* cattle ranches were a boom- 
ing market for the English speculators. My 
friend, who was, of course, a Colonel, had 
commenced life as a cowboy, and had 
gradually acquired flocks and herds till 
he became rich beyond the dreams of 
avarice. He was a man of distinguished 
appearance, of gentlest manner, and, as I 
soon learned, of most chivalrous nature. 
But so deeply ingrained were his cowboy 

habits ERSFfTfF (W^tf 1 * veneer of 





civilization, that in the course of conversa- 
tion — and on some subjects his talk had all 
the freshness and charm of a little child — he 
interpolated a prolonged and fearsome oath. 

" Ex-cuse," he said, when these fits came 
over him, bowing his head and speaking in 
gentlest tones. Then he went on talking 
with his musical drawl till suddenly he 
stumbled into another pitfall of bad language, 
coming out again with bowed head, sweet 
smile, and his long - drawn, plaintive, 
" Ex-cuse." 

One thing he told me of his first ap- 
pearance in civilization befell him on his first 
visit to Chicago. Putting up, as became a 
man of his wealth, at the best hotel in 
the city, he was struck with the magni- 
ficence of the dining saloon, with its rich, 
soft, thick carpets, its massive chandeliers, 
its gilt pillars, and its many mirrors. Seeing 
another large room leading out of the one in 
which he stood at gaze, the Colonel advanced 
to explore it — and walked right into a mirror, 
smashing the glass and cutting himself. He 
had never in his life seen anything of that 
kind. The delusion was complete, broken 
only with the shivered glass. 

I thought of my friend the 
a spectre Colonel the other night at the 

guest, house of a well-known Amphi- 
tryon. It was an evening party, 
at which Royalty was present in unusual 
muster. A brilliant company had gathered 
to meet them, many of the women fair, and 
most of the men bravely attired in Minis- 
terial, Court, naval, or military uniforms. 
At midnight the room in which a sumptuous 
supper was spread was crowded. At one table 
stood a well-known member of the House 
of Commons, in animated conversation with 
a group of friends. Bidding them good- 
night, he turned to leave the room, and 
strode straight up to a mirror that covered 
a wall at one end. 

He halted abruptly as he observed a man 
walking with rapid pace to meet him. He 
stood and looked him straight in the face, 
the other guest regarding him with equal 

interest. The hon. member, the pink of 
courtesy, slightly bowed and moved a step 
to the right to let the new-comer enter. By 
an odd coincidence (not uncommon in 
these encounters) the stranger took exactly 
the same direction, and there they stood face 
to face again. With a smile and another bow, 
the hon. member moved smartly to the left. 

Never shall I forget the look of amaze- 
ment reflected in his face as, staring into the 
glass, he discovered that the stranger had 
once more made a corresponding movement 
and stood before him. 

"I beg your pardon," he murmured, in 
faltering tones. 

Whether the sound of his own voice broke 
the spell, or whether he saw the lips of his 
vis-a-vis moving and recognised his identity, 
I do not know. The truth flashed upon 
him, and with rapid step he made for the 
door in the corner at right angles with the 
mirror and disappeared. 

As to a story told me by an Irish 
an irish member with reference to a 
peerage, peerage (which, by the way, in dis- 
coursing on the subject I did not 
name), G. S. writes from County Antrim : — 

" My father spent his youth very near 
Woodlands, nowLuttrellstown, LordAnnally's 
place in County Dublin. I often heard him 
speak of Luke White, the bookseller, father 
to the first Lord Annally, and as to his 
accumulation of wealth. The report current 
at that time was that he found in a book not 
bank-notes but a lottery ticket, which came out 
a prize for a large sum. A small document 
like this would be more likely to escape 
notice than a number of bank-notes. This 
Luke White kept, among his other avocations, 
a lottery office in Dublin, and, probably, 
made large profits by it : at any rate, he left 
his four sons well off. Three of them were 
Colonels of Irish Militia regiments and 
members of Parliament. The youngest of 
these three Colonels, Henry White, was 
created first Baron Annally. Hoping you will 
excuse the liberty in sending you these few 

by Google 

Original from 






lUQ^L ■«,« . 


Original from 









6,— AND 1 r<ix] FOLLOWED WITH A M.IEA ^'fO^M^kifcO |T™I 







Original from 

A Story for Children. From the German. 

N olden days there lived a 
Count, who had many castles 
and estates j and a most 
beautiful daughter, but no one 
would associate villi him, for 
it was rumoured he was in 
league with the Evil One; indeed, from time 
to time one or other of his servants most 
mysteriously disappeared. 

The last who disappeared was the shepherd. 
One evening he did not return to the castle. 
Search w T as made for him throughout the 
village, but in vain ; no trace of him could be 
found. After this no one would enter the 
Count's service as shepherd ; but at last, a 
bold, handsome youth presented himself; he 
had travelled far as a soldier, and cared 
nothing for evil spirits, The Count imme- 
diately engaged him, and said he could take 
the sheep to feed wherever he liked, only 
he must never go into the three valleys to the 
east of the castle. For a time all went well ; 
the young man drove the sheep into the rich 
meadows around the castle as his master had 
ordered, and led a very comfortable life. 
But he was always thinking of I he three 
valleys, and being a brave youth who did not 
fear evil spirits, he one day took the cross- 
bow and bolts he had used when soldiering, 
put a new string to his bow, and said, as he 
struck his rusty spear against the ground : — 
" I will see who will venture to harm me 
in the three valleys ; it will fare badly with 
him, I think." 

Going towards the east, he soon arrived 
with his sheep in the first valley, where lie 
found beautiful meadows in which he could 
safely leave his flock. He looked carefully 
around, but, except the butterflies fluttering 
to and fro, and the bumming of the bees, 
there was neither sound nor movement* 
Then he sat down beneath an oak and be- 
gan to play on his pipe ; suddenly, in the 
wood near, arose a crashing and cracking as 
if some mighty animal were breaking through 
the bushes, and, before our shepherd could 
fix a bolt in his cross-bow, a powerful giant 
stood before him and cried : — 

4t What are you doing here with your grass- 
eaters, destroying my meadows, you insolent 
fellow? You shall answer for this/ 1 

He did not wait for an answer, but threw 
his spear with fearful force at the shepherd, 
w T ho saved himself by springing behind 
the oak, into which the spear sunk so deep 
that the point stuck out on the other 
side. Then* fixing a bolt into his cross- 
bow, the shepherd took aim, and struck 
the gumt so skilful lv in the centre n\ 
the forehead that he fell with a deep 
groan to the earth. Before he had time 
to rise, the shepherd bounded forward and 
ran his spear through his adversary's neck, 
nailing him to the ground* and his spirit soon 
fled* The shepherd took the giants sword 
and armour, and was about to return home, 
when in an opening of the forest he saw a 



he entered In the spacious hall stood a 

stone table on which was a cup cohered with 

a silver plate bearing these words : — 

Who drinks of this cup 
Shall overcome the Evil One* 

The young man had no confidence in 
the words or the drink, and left the cup 
untouched* He laid the dead giant's armour 
in the hall ; then, taking the key of the door 
with him, he returned home with his flock, 
and went to rest without mentioning his 
adventure to anyone. The next day he 
tended his sheep on the mountain slopes 
surrounding the castle, but the second day 
he coutd not rest ; so, girding on the sword 
he had taken from the dead giant, he started 
with his flock for the second valley, in hopes 
of fresh adventure- Here also were beauti- 
ful pastures, if possible richer and more 
luxuriant than in the first valley ; the flowers 
breathed forth their fragrance, the birds sang 
sweetly, and through the meadows meandered 
a stream clear as crystal, by whose bank 
the shepherd lay down to rest, He was 
just thinking that all adventure and danger 
were past when an enormous block of rock 
fell on the ground near him, and a voice 
rough and wild, like thai of a bear, 
said r " What are you doing here with 
your grass-eaters, you insolent fellow?" 
And from behind a wall of rock 
stepped a mighty giant, brandishing a 
ponderous stone cluh. He aimed a 
blow at the shepherd, who ducked 
behind the rock which the giant had 
thrown as his first greeting, and the 
club descending on the stone, it broke 
in pieces from the force of the blow. 

Quick as lightning the youth 
his sword, and with one strok 
through the sinews in the bend 
the giant's knee, who fell to the 
with a loud roat\ He 
struck out wildly with 
his fists, but a well- 
directed thrust 
through the heart 
soon quieted him* 
The shepherd left him 
lying there, and 
turned towards the 
wall of rock ; here he 
found a massive door 
concealed amongst 
the thicket. Through 
this he passed, and 

', entered a hall - like 
cavern, in which, at 

j a stone manger, stood 

a snow-white horse ready saddled, and over 

the manger was engraved this saying : — 

Who springs on Ibis while hors* 
Shall overcame the Evil One. 

Now, the shepherd thought : 4i I am strong 
enough to take care of myself, and I do 
not want to overcome the Evil One, he has 
always left me in peace ; but I will remember 
that here stands a fine horse on which I can 
ride forth into the wide world." He threw 
fresh oats into the manger, shut the door, 
and returned home. The next few days he 
remained very quiet, lest his movements 
might have been observed ; then, as no 
one questioned him, he one fine morning 
drove his sheep into the third valley, 
Heautiful meadows glittered in the sunshine; 
from a hill of rock a waterfall plashed down, 
forming a small sea in which sported in- 
numerable fish. The shepherd looked care- 
fully around, searched under every bush, but 
found nothing. No sound was heard save 
the continued plash, plash, of the cool water. 
The day was very sultry, and the shepherd was 
just preparing for a bathe in the fresh, clear 
water, when from out a ravine near the sea 
appeared a horrible human head, with one 




by GOO 

Original from 



eye, as large as a plate, in the centre of the 
forehead, and a voice loud as the roll of 
thunder shouted: "What do you want here, 
you insolent earth-worm ? " 

The head rose 
higher and higher, 
until a giant as high 
as a tower stood be- 
fore the shepherd, 
who with a sure aim 
sent his lance into 

the eye of his adver- * l what po vol- want here?" 
sary. The monster, 

thus blinded, groped wildly about with his 
hands, in hopes to strangle his enemy, but 
he only seized an oak which he tore up by 
the roots, and threw it high into the air. 
Now the victory was easy, for though the 
giant could no longer be hurt by cuts and 
thrusts, which slipped off from his body as 
from a mossy stone, the shepherd soon found 
other means. He mocked and insulted the 
blind giant, and by the sound of his voice 
drew him ever nearer and nearer to the sea, 
at the side where the cliff overhung the 
water. At last he sprang for a moment on 
the edge of the precipice, and gave a loud* 
mocking cry, then silently concealed himself 
behind a tree. The giant, deceived by the 
shout, pursued him eagerly, lost his footing, 
and fell heavily into the sea. 

Then the shepherd went down into the 
ravine from which the monster had appeared 
Here lay a meadow full of beautiful flowers, 
in the midst of which rose a spacious mansion, 
built of the trunks of trees. The shepherd 
entered the hall and saw a mighty spear, on 
whose shaft these words wore cut ; — - 
Who throws this lance 
Shall overcome iht* Kvil One. 

He seized the spear, but his arms were too 

But it has 
I and my 

weak to raise it, and he wearily laid the 
mighty weapon back in the corner; at the 
same time he thought, since he had conquered 
three giants, he could surely overcome the 
Evil One without this lance. As the day 
drew to a close he gathered his sheep to- 
gether and returned to the castle. Arrived 
there, he was immediately summoned before 
the Count, who asked him angrily 
where he had been. The shepherd 
then truthfully related all that had 
happened in the three valleys, and 
how he had that day slain the giant 
as tall as a tower, 
" Woe to you 
and to me," re- 
plied the Count, 
-_ - -___ with pale lips. "I 
heard the giant's 
cries of rage, and 
hoped you were 
paying for your 
d i s o bedience 
with your life, 
happened otherwise, and now 
daughter must suffer because 
you, you insolent fellow, disobeyed my 
commands and entered the giants 1 terri- 
tories ; for it has been made known to 
me that to-morrow the mighty lord of the 
giants, the Prince of the Infernal Regions, 
will appear, and demand my daughter or me 
as a sacrifice ; but before that you, you 
miserable fellow, shall suffer all the agonies 
of torture, as a punishment for bringing me 
into this trouble. 

" Seue him ! " he cried to the servants who 
were standing in the entrance-half His 
command was at once obeyed, when the 
Count's daughter, who had listened with 
glowing cheeks to the shepherd's story, threw 
herself on her knees and implored for 

"Dearest father," she cried, "should you 
not rather endeavour to make use of this 
brave youth for our deliverance than put him 
to the torture ? He has overcome three 
giants ; surely he will be able to vanquish the 
Prince of the Infernal Regions." 

The Count remained for a few moments in 
deep thought, and then acknowledged that 
his daughter's suggestion was both good and 
clever. He asked the shepherd if he were 
willing to expiate his crime by a combat with 
the Evil One, and the young man, with a 
grateful look at his deliverer, at once agreed. 
With the first dawn of morning he rose from 
his couch, for be now recalled the words 

aboa lMMY? Mtafi and hastered 



to the first valley, where in the castle stood 
the cup with the inscription :-- 

Who drinks of this cup 
Shall overcome the Evil One. 

He seized the cup and 
emptied it at one draught, 
and — wo n der f u I — the magic 
draught flowed through his 
veins like fire, and he felt 
courage and strength enough 
to combat a whole army* 
With sparkling eyes he 
hastened to the second valley, 

u SMI. lUPLOKED R)K IM.l.-Vt, 

mounted the white horse, who greeted him 
with a joyful neigh, and then galloped as if 
in flight to the third valley, in which stood 
the mighty lance. Yesterday he could 
scarcely move it ; to-day T with one hand, he 
swung it high over his head, as if it had been 
a small arrow. 

By sunrise he was again at the Count's 
castle, waiting eagerly for what would happen, 
but the day passed and no one appeared. 
The sun had sunk to rest, and the moon had 
just risen in all her splendour, when in the 
north of the heavens was seen what appeared 
to be a dark storm-cloud. With the speed 
of lightning it approached the castle, and a 
voice, as of a bassoon, sounded from out 
the cloud: u Where are my propitiatory 
sacrifices?" At the same time a gigantic 
eagle, with greenish-grey wings, like the storm- 
cloud, hovered high over the castle, ready to 

swoop down on his prey. 
Then the young man set 
spurs into his white horse, 
and shaking his lance high 
above his head, cried with 
a loud voice : " There are 
no sacrifices here for you, 
you robber ! Begone in- 
stantly, or you shall feel my 
arrows ! J ' On hearing these 
words^ the eagle swooped 
down with a wild cry, before 
the shepherd could take his 
cross- bow, and the young 
man would certainly have 
perished had it not been for 
his presence of mind and 
the strength and activity of 
his steed. A touch with 
the spur, and it flew swift 
as the wind under a very 
old and thickly leaved 
linden tree, whose branches 
hung down almost to the 
ground, so that the eagle 
could only break in through 
the side. 

This the bird at once 
attempted, and it caused 
his death t for his outspread 
wings became entangled in 
the branches, and the brave 
rider, with one powerful 
blow of his sword* severed 
the head from the body. 
But, oh, horror ! instead of 
blood there came forth 
from the headless body of 
the eagle a huge serpent, 
who, with wi de-open jaws, a pj coached the 
shepherd and tried to enfold him in the 
rings of its flexible body- By a skilful 
movement, it encircled the horse and 
rider, and crushed them until the young 
man thought he should be pressed into 
the body of his steed, but the horse pressed 
himself so close against the tree that the 
head of the serpent came round on the other 
side of the trunk, and thus it was hindered 
from harming the shepherd with its poisonous 
bite or breath. One stroke of the shepherds 
sharp dagger, and the body of the serpent fell 
in two pieces to the ground ; the horse imme- 
diately trampled on the head. But the hinder 
part of the serpent swelled and swelled, the 
cut became a frightful mouth, which spurted 
out smoke and flames, while from the rings of 
the serpent's body grew forth claws and wings, 
and afj^t 4 horrible ^pnsrter a i L r) the form of a 




dragon threw itself on the shepherd, whose 
strength had already begun to fail through 
the dreadful pressing of the serpent. But in 
his greatest need a saving thought occurred 
to him — he turned his horse round: it broke 
through the branches of the linden tree into 
the open field 3 and sped with its rider to the 
nearest stream, in whose waters they both 
cooled themselves. The dragon snorted after 
them, spitting forth fire and smoke. But as 
the head of the serpent, from whose body 
the dragon had grown, had been destroyed, 
there was no deadly poison in its breath, 
and the rider was safe from the flames 
through bathing in the stream. So he 
rode boldly towards the approaching dragon 
with lance in rest, and tried to approach 
it from the side ; but all his blows 
glanced off from its scaly body as from a 
coat of mail Suddenly it occurred to him 
to thrust his lance down the monster's 
throat He turned his horse and spurred 
him straight towards the dragon, and thrust- 
ing his lance through the 
smoke and flame, stuck 
it right into the creature's 
throat. He was obliged 
to leave his lance, for his 
horse, singed by the fiery 
breath of the dragon, 
bounded far to one side ; 
but the monster did not 
attempt to follow them, 
the lance had stuck deep 
into its body. It struck 
wildly with its tail on 
the ground, until the 
earth burst, then it 
shivered and fell over, 
first on its side> then on 
its back, a stream of fire 
poured forth from its wide- 
open jaws, and with the 
flames its life passed 

Thus was the combat 
ended and the Evil One 
subdued. Joyfully the 
shepherd rode back to 
the Count and his daugh- 
ter, and told them all that 
had happened. The 
County embracing him, 
said, "You are our de- 
liverer, to you I owe my 
life and all that I possess: 

take the half of whatever is mine, or choose 
from it whatever pleases you." 

The shepherd gazed earnestly into the eyes 
of the Count's lovely daughter, and replied : 

" I know of nothing, sir Count, in the 
whole world which is dearer to me than your 
daughter, (live her to me for my wifej if she 
be willing/ 1 

The Count smiled. " Are you willing, my 
child ? » 

11 1 love him more than words can express," 
said the maiden, and sank on the breast of 
the shepherd. 

The next day the marriage was cele- 
brated with great splendour, and when 
Heaven had blessed their union with children, 
and these were grown up, the hero of this 
story, a shepherd no longer, used to say to 
his sons when telling them of his adventures : 
"There are three things by which one can 
subdue giants and evil spirits, and become 
great : courage, perseverance, and presence 
of mind." 


by Google 

Original from 


f^ru"*nL" fc Original from 



^^^iiL* , Original from 


The Cripple at the Mill. 

By Max Pemberton. 

HE thunderstorm, which had 
followed me all the afternoon, 
promised to burst about the 
hour of sunset. Away to the 
west, the rolling vapours 
steamed up in fantastic shapes ; 
there were mountains of sullen black cloud 
lying low in the remoter valley. The river 
itself took the colour of ink ; the distant 
woods upon which the sun still fell were all 
lit with rich and changing colours, in fine 
contrast to the black and gloomy picture so 
near to me. I began to hear that distinct 
throb of the little waves which is a prelude 
to storm; the wind whistled hauntingly in 
the willows; the grasses bent to the fitful 
blasts ; even my canoe went careering onward, 
as though anxious to bring me to shelter. 

Supper and bed ! The words ted a plea- 
sant ring for a man who was ten miles from 
anywhere. I had been making a tour of the 
rivers of France, and having come down the 
Seine to my great content, had struck through 
the canals into the River Loire. Thence I 
was looking to reach the Saone, and ultimately 
the Rhone. Until this June day of which 
I write, my trip had been all that I 
had hoped. The perpetual sunshine, the 
perfect rest, the exhilaration of the exercise, 
the solitude, the sweetness of the rivers, had 
blotted London from my memory. My old 
canoe, bought years ago at Toronto, had 
been my best friend. My luggage would not 
have filled a decent trunk. Two suits of 
thick flannels served all purposes. My \e\6e 
dress was a mackintosh ; my morning toilet, 
a sweater and a pipe. And I was happy ; 
happy, I think, beyond any oarsman that 
ever cut himself adrift from his fellows, and 
made holiday alone. 

Supper and bed ! They seemed far off, 
indeed. I was ten leagues from Nevers, and 
the surrounding country was as flat as the 
Fens. Not the vestige of a house could I see. 
It was now near to being quite dark. 
Ugly flashes of forked lightning struck across 
the western sky ; the wind moaned warn- 
ingly ; there was foam upon the wavelets. 
With the hope that I might yet come upon a 
haven, I dug my paddle into the water 
furiously, and the rush of waves from my 
bows was like music to my ears. The greater 
speed carried me swiftly to the point where 
the stream swung round sharply to the east- 
ward. I passed a great clump of bushes, all 
covered with wild clematis, and then I saw 
the girl. 

Vol. x.-31. 

A prettier apparition never was. She sat 
upon the bank, weaving white moon-daisies 
into her hair, which fell over her shoulders 
almost to her waist. She wore no shoes or 
stockings, and, for the matter of that, her feet 
were in the water to her ankles. What her 
age was I make no pretence to tell. I remem- 
ber only that her exceedingly well-shaped face 
and great dark eyes gave me the notion that 
she was very young, and her dress was fittingly 
picturesque, consisting only of a short skirt 
of scarlet, and ap old black and gold bodice 
with white sleeves such as we look for with 
the typical gipsy of opera. Her feathers, 
however, had long since lost their fineness. 
The gold lace was wofully faded ; the sleeves 
were scrupulously white, but much torn ; 
there were buttons wanting. None the less 
was the effect singularly pleasing, and the 
face of the girl one to attract apart from her 

The moment she saw my canoe, this wild 
creature ceased to play with the daisies in 
her lap, and began to stare at me. Not a 
muscle did she move ; not a word escaped 
her. But her eyes were a wonder to see, and 
the little hands were dainty enough to call 
for a painter's admiration. I paused for a 
moment, silent in praise. Then I spoke 
to her with all the French I could muster. 

" I am caught by the storm, little one ; can 
you direct me to any shelter ? " 

She looked at me with increasing amaze- 
ment, but gave me no answer. I might have 
been addressing a statue. I threw a franc 
to her. It fell almost upon her right hand, 
but she made no motion to pick it up ; nor 
did she look at it, continuing instead to 
search me with those lustrous eyes of hers. 

"There is no house here," said she, speak- 
ing at last with a very pleasant voice. 

" But where do you live ? " I persisted, in 

" I live at the White Mill," she answered, 

" And where is the White Mill? " 

"What eyes you have," she now cried, 
gaily ; " the White Mill is through the trees 

I must have been blind. When I looked 
for the spot she indicated, I saw the shape of 
a tumble-down structure showing through the 
trees of a scanty copse. It was not half a 
mile from where I was. 

"Oh," said I, at the discovery; "that's 
where you ii^Jl&l tf?n And is your mother 





She shook her head. 

"Or your father?" 

She answered me as before* 

''Then who takes care of you?" I asked, 
angry at her obstinacy, 

"My uncle, Maitre Chalet" 

" Then he will give me a bed, SapristI, 
the rain is coming down already. We shall 
be drenched, little one. Run on and tell your 
uncle I am about to make his acquaintance," 

She did not move ; but the look of amused 
curiosity in her eyes passed to one of startled 

" You k wish to go to the mill ? " she asked, 

"Certainly, I wish to go; why should I 

" Because," she answered, slowly, ''because 

-no one goes to Maitre Chalot" 

"Then all 



e more reason to give 



"Oh! but— but- 

" [hit what, pretty child?" 

She had now started to her feet, and had 
snatched up the franc, which she slipped into 
the breast of the faded bodice. I thought 
for a moment that she was going to plead 
with me ; but when she had stood for some 
time with the wild look in her eyes, of a 
sudden she ran away swiftly towards the old 
house, and I was alone. 

"A pest on it," said I, (t the little witch is 

Mad or sane, it 
was not a situation 
to call for serious 
debate. Wild gusts 
of wind now 
howled in the val- 
ley* A heavy dark- 
ness had come 
down with the 
storm. The rain 
and hail cut the 
face. The willows 
bent like whips. 
The lightning 
leaped from cloud 
to cloud in paths 
of blinding light. 
The rattle of the 
thunder was like 
the roar of unnum- 
bered batteries. 
1 )etermined to find 
a haven at any cost, 
and sublimely in- 
different to the 
relations between 
Maitre Chalot and 
his neighbours, I set down to my work, and, 
wet and weary as I was, the canoe flew 
onward to the mill. 

The house proved on better acquaintance 
to be just as decrepit and decayed as I had 
thought when first I saw it. Scarce a pane 
in any lattice was uncracked. The thatch 
struggled raggedly over the eaves* One 
wing of the building had sunk upon its 
foundations and yawed away from its fellow. 
The high chimney above the mill had long 
since had a quarrel with the perpendicular. 
The walls were often bulging and split. The 
door of the parlour — for there was no such 
luxury as a hall — had lost a hinge + A 
mangy dog of all known breeds lay asleep 
on a heap of dirty straw in the yard. I saw 
that the place was built upon the bank of a 
little stream here flowing swiftly into the 
main river; and must once have been a 
prosperous mill. But that, I judged, was 
years ago. 

I left my canoe in the mill-pool, then 
whipped into ripples by the storm ; and, 
regardless of the fact that water streamed 
out of my flannels, I knocked upon the open 
door of the kitchen. There was a fire burn- 
ing brightly in a stove, and stew-pans warming 
on the copper top* The whole interior was 
ridiculously clean for such an environment, 
and in spite of the warnings of the little 

witch ' Mmrt ffwnft^** upon 



the adventure. 
In the same mo- 
ment I heard 
someone hobbling 
across the flags, and 
then was face to face 
with Maitre Chalot. 
I was sure it was he, 
and at the first view 
of him I saw that he 
was a cripple, and 
went on crutches, 

"Good evening," 
said he, " You are an 
Englishman, I sup- 
pose, and you want 
shelter? Well, such 
as I have is at 
your disposal Mon 
Dieu, listen to the 

He led the way 
into his cottage — you 
could not call it more 
— without another 
word ; and I found 
myself sitting at the 
fire in a hopeless 
endeavour to dry my 
clothes. The witch of 
the river was not to be 

seen, however, and the storm now beat so vio- 
lently without, and the darkness was so intense, 
that the old man hobbled to a cupboard and 
set a lamp upon his table. The light of it 
added to my surprise* It showed me the 
features of one who might well have been an 
abbe. Never had I seen such a gentle-look- 
ing old fellow. Silky white hair streamed 
upon his forehead ; his face was the face of a 
Greek; his mouth like the mouth of a tender 
woman ; his eyes kindly ; his voice gentle. 
And this was the man of whom the neigh- 
bours made a hermit, and against whom my 
little friend had suggested cautions. What a 
farce ! 

When he had placed the lamp upon the 
table, Maitre Chalot made haste to apologize 
for his shortcomings and to set supper, 

11 1 have nothing but bread and wine to 
offer, monsieur/ 1 said he, hobbling about 
upon his crutches with surprising agility ; 
" but such as I have, I give with all my heart. 
It was different when my wife was alive — but 
she died ten years ago. And there is no 
woman's hand in this house now. God be 
merciful to me, I am quite alone 1 " 

"One moment," said I, feeling myself 
moved to pity at his obvious distress. "I met 

a young girl on the 
river's bank half a 
mile from here. She 
declared she was your 

* I Si 

niece I 

When 1 said this, a 
swift look of hatred 
passed over his strik- 
ing face. He brought 
down his fist with a 
bang upon the table 
so that the glasses he 
had set danced again. 
" My niece she is," 
cried he, "and with 
such am I visited for 
my sins. Oh, she is 
a lazy creature, mon- 
sieur — she is a waif 
and stray who will 
come to mischief. 
Heaven forgive me 
for saying it Never 
was good known of 
her. She will not go 
to school; she will 
not work at home. 
She is a plague to 
me. Even the clergy 
speak of her from the 
pulpit, saying, f Be 
warned by Fiftne of the mill.* What a mis- 
fortune for you to speak with her," 

I said nothing in answer to his appeal; 
but his words seemed to be con finned by the 
absence of the girl when we sat down to his 
poor supper, and afterwards to pipes in the 
settle, The crisis of the storm had now 
passed, but the wind still howled dismally in 
the river valley, and roared under the eaves 
of the old house with a sound as of human 
moaning and distress, Yet not a sight of the 
girl had I seen, and I began to be anxious 
about her, 

"Tell me/' said I, filling my glass with the 
re vol ting] y sour Bordeaux he offered to me, 
"where is Fifine now ? " 

" God knows," cried he, ^everywhere — any- 
where. She is like a Will-o'-the-wisp. Do 
not trouble your head about her. I never 
do — she is not worth a thought" 

He turned the subject deftly, going on to 
tell me that others of my own countrymen 
had passed down the Loire recently, seeking 
to reach the Saone, and that two of them had 
stayed in lus house. 

"You English," said he, " how gay you are. 
To row ahout'linbbiK'IVb bigger than that— 
oh, i|lM'MUTVA)PMKIfKAtt^ ^ you have 

•. ■.-, KIJ> I'P'lN THK OPEW IHWH. 



a pillow for your head or a dinner to eat ! 
Ala/m! what a nation I" 

He laughed at the humour of the thing, 
and poured me out another glass of the sour 
wine. He was just about to resume the 
subject when we both heard a heavy, dull 


sound as of hammering, a sound which 
appeared to come from a room next to our 
own ; and at this he sprang up upon his 
crutches and hobbled away to listen- in the 
minute that I was alone I heard a sharp cry 
like the cry of a girl who had been struck, 
but it was not repeated, and when the old 
man came back to me he was still smiling. 

" What a night," said he, apparently in 
explanation ; i( what a wind ! Did you hear 
the dog yelping? I have shut him in the 
cellar. Holy Mother, I would not turn a cur 
away in such a storm/' 

"Then what about your niece?" asked I, 
beginning to feel some slight distrust of him 
in spite of myself, 

i( She is in bed/ 1 said he t looking at me 
sharply. * 4 Oh, never fear, she can take care 
of herself* If anyone suffers, it will not be 

I knew not what to think, what to say in 
answer to him- I could have sworn (jiat I 
had heard a child cry out ; and yet here was 
this smiling old cripple appearing to be the 
spirit of all benevolence and good. The 
thing was becoming a mystery, I recalled 
again the pitiful, dazed look of 
the girl ; I remembered her 
startled exclamation when I had 
proposed to go to the mill. And 
I could not drive it out of my 
mind that I was quite alone with 
this saintly cripple; that there 
was no other house within many 
miles of his. These things, I 
say, occurred to me, and yet it is 
not to be thought that I feared 
the man. After all, he was old 
and lame ; I was young, and had 
the strength of perfect health. 1 
knew that I could take him up 
with one hand, if need be, and 
pitch him out of his own window, 
Nevertheless, a certain indefin- 
able sense of dread came upon 
me once or twice while I sat in 
that gloomy kitchen* The dim 
light casting bands of black 
shadow upon the damp stained 
wall ; the sob of the wind about 
the gables ; the reddening fire 
glowing upon the face of my 
host ; the tick of the clock so 
plainly to be heard ; the know- 
ledge of the loneliness of the 
marshes without, contributed to 
the impression. I began to 
tNE -' feel that the very atmosphere of 

the room was oppressive ; the 
company of the man unbearable. Talk as 
much as he might, I could not find it in me 
to reply to him ; and nine o'clock had scarce 
been struck upon his crazy old clock when I 
said that I would go to bed 

He found the suggestion a good one, 
" Without doubt, you have come far and 
are tired," said he + "I am distressed to 
offer you such a poor bed, but it is my best. 
It was different when my wife lived. Oh, 
monsieur, what a woman she was, So clean, 
so neat — such an example. God rest her 

As he said this, he produced a tiny brass 
lamp and lit it. Then he held it aloft and 
began, very dexterously, to pitch himself for- 
ward upon his crutches, leading me down a 
dark passage towards the yawing gable. He 
went so fast that I was some paces behind 

him ^j^MmA the l " ssage ' 



and in this moment I was conscious of a 
light step behind me. I turned quickly, and 
found myself almost touching the face of the 
girl Fifine. But the look in her eyes was one 
I shall never forget. 

" Well, pretty child," said I, in a whisper, 
" what do you w T ant ? " 

" I — I want to tell you," she said, gasping 
for her breath—" don't go — don't sleep — you 
were kind to me. Oh, don't listen to him. 
He will " 

What more she would have said I can't 
for the life of me tell, for that moment the 
old man called out, and she vanished like a 

The passage was now quite dark, save for 
a ray of moonlight which fell through a 
tiny lattice high above me ; and with the 
girl's words ringing unpleasantly in my ears, 
I began to grope my way back to the kitchen. 
There, at any rate, I could see the danger 
that menaced me. But in that dark place I 
knew not what might come. A hundred fears, 
a hundred possibilities, leapt into my mind. 
Uncertain, half-convinced, puzzling still upon 
the enigma, I had taken half-a-dozen steps 
towards the room I had left, when the light 
of the man's lantern flashed again at the far 
end of the passage, and he called to me : — 

" Your room is quite ready, monsieur." 

He stood waving the light, and I, in 
turn, paused and looked at him. For the 
thought had come to me suddenly : what if 
the girl should have been set to this work ; 
what if it was her design to drag me back to 
the kitchen ? I asked myself : were there 
other men in the house beside the cripple ? 
What was the sound of hammering I had 
heard. Why had someone cried out? It 
seemed to me even in the face of the child's 
warning that I should fare better if I kept 
my fears to myself and did not come openly 
to a statement of them. That would give 
me time at any rate, and I could look but to 
my own wits for the rest As well might a 
man have cried out for help in the cellars of 
the Inquisition as in that lonely house. 

" This way, monsieur ; peste, how dark it 
is, but there are no steps. Permit me to go 
first with the lantern." 

With these words the cripple raised the 
light so high that its rays were cast upon my 
face. To have hesitated longer would have 
been to have brought the thing immediately to 
a head. Had I known what I know now, I 
would have taken this course ; but in my 
uncertainty, I thought it better to follow him, 
and keeping at his heels, I turned the angle 
of the passage and came to my bedroom. It 

was a small panelled apartment, with so tiny 
a window that a dog scarce could have 
entered through it. A low and very plain 
iron bedstead, a worn and tattered mat, 
a tin washstand, and a big deal cupboard 
furnished it. The place was both bare and 
dirty, and smelt strongly of damp. A 
shudder ran through me when the man set 
down the lamp and again began to apologize 
for putting me in such a place. But I was 
anxious to be quit of him ; and with a curt 
word, I sent him about his business. 

Directly I was alone, I seemed able to 
breathe again. How it was I know not, but 
the very company of that lame man set all 
my nerves twitching. Now, however, I was 
rid of him, and scarce had his step died 
away in the passage before I was at 
work. Instinctively, 1 felt that my very 
life depended upon what I could do 
in the next ten minutes. As a first 
thought I turned to the door and examined 
it. It wanted both lock and key ; in fact, it 
swung loose upon its hinges and was worth 
no more than a door of paper. The idea 
that I would bar it with the heavy wardrobe 
was entertained for a moment, only to be 
rejected as quickly. Two men could not 
have moved that cumbrous contrivance; 
and when I had assured myself of this, 
I bethought me of the bed. What if 
I drew the bed across the opening, and 
so slept with the knowledge that any- 
one passing into the room must pass over 
me? It was a good notion, but I put it 
aside when I remembered what a cabined den 
I was in. Better far to creep out to the river 
again — better anything than the gloom and 
chill and silence of that reeking chamber. 
And this at last I resolved to do, coming to 
believe, as I reasoned it out again, that the 
girl was my friend, the cripple my enemy. 

Firm in this purpose, I pushed a chair 
against the door and sat upon the bed. I 
had taken off my coat in my endeavours to 
move the wardrobe, and now I sat in my 
shirt-sleeves, having first got my pocket-book 
which contained my money and thrust it 
into my belt. My knapsack lay upon the 
chair at the door, but I did not open it; 
meaning, when half an hour had gone, to 
crawl down the passage and make a bolt for 
it. For the first time in the history of my 
travels, I began to curse my folly in refusing 
to carry a revolver. Until that time I had 
laughed at those who did so, but I laughed 
no more. Nay, as I sat there, starting at 
every whisper of the wind and creak of the 
boanfajiX remembered that a pistol might 



have saved my life— and for my life I knew 
that I must fight 

Ten minutes > perhaps, had passed of the 
half -hour which I had set myself, when the 
little lamp flickered and went out The 
light that now came down from the lattice 
showed me that the storm had broken, and 
that the moon was struggling through the 
clouds. But for the most part, the room 
was in utter darkness. I could not see 
my hand before my face ; I feared to move 
from my bed lest any trap should be 
set for me. Once I thought I heard the 
sound of dripping water ; the howl of the dog 
in the yard struck up weird and chilling \ but 
these done with, the old silence fell, a silence 
so profound that I could hear the ticking of 
my watch as it lay in the pocket of my coat. 
At last I determined to bear with it no longer, 
and, well or ill, to leave that dreadful vault. 
It was as if the whole place were filled with 
ugly shadows, with the spirits of the mur- 
dered dead who haunted it The temptation 
to cry out way unbearable. I seemed to feel 
that a face looked into mine, that dead men 
come to life were breathing upon 
me w T ith warm breath. 

With my nerve thus shattered 
and my hands almost trembling, I 
snatched up my knapsack and my 
coat, and pulled the chair from the 
door, A stream of light flooded the 
room at the action, and I found 
myself, to my amazement, face to 
face with Maitre ChaloL So great 
was the surprise of it, to see him 
standing there with his lantern raised 
and his smiling face, that the words 
I would have spoken stuck upon my 
lips* Nor was he at all abashed by 
my confusion. 

" A thousand pardons, monsieur," 
said he; " I am distressed beyond 
words to wake you, but I had for- 
gotten to point out the other door 
in your room, which I beg you to 
avoid. It is an old affair, opening 
above the mill-wheel which" once 
was the pride of this place, I beg 
of you let me show it, lest any mis- 
chance should befall you." 

He gave me no time to say aye or 
no, and quite put off my guard, I 
watched him hobble across the room, 
and open a panel in the walL A 
rush of noxious air streamed into the 
apartment as he did so, and his lamp 
came near to being extinguished* 

"Look for yourself, monsieur," 

said he, resting back upon his crutches, and 
waving the lamp with his hand, H what a dirty 
place it is. Oh, that I must ask you to sleep 
above such a thing. But what would you ? 
I have no other room." 

While he had been speaking I had taken 
two strides towards the hole. His words 
were fair;, his attitude defied suspicion. A 
cripple, leaning back upon his crutches, with 
his hands above him : what harm could he do 
to me ? I saw that he was helpless, but none 
the less I kept back from him, quelling the 
curiosity which would have led me to gaze 
into the pit. 

"Will you not look, monsieur?" he asked 
again, when I hesitated. *' It is the old mill- 
wheel, but the sluice runs no longer. Ah ! 
what a place this was when the water made 
music all the day/' 

He said this, and the words were hardly 
out of his lips when the crisis came. I 
suppose that I had taken another step towards 
him, led on by his chatter. Be that as it 
may, while I was beginning to assure myself 
once more that he w T as honest, and that the 




girl had lied, he astounded me by dropping 
back upon his crutches, and falling heavily to 
the floor. The lamp fell with him, extinguish- 
ing itself as it dropped. We were in utter 
darkness, and he lay at my feet, moaning 
most dismally. 

" Mon DieUy monsieur," he now cried, 
" help me up, for pity's sake. I have broken 
my leg. Oh, what pain I suffer." 

His cries were horrible, and without a 
thought of any treachery, I put out my hand 
to help him. No sooner had he gripped it, 
however, than a shudder ran over my body, 
and the whole of the man's purpose was 
revealed to me. For his grip was like a grip 
of iron ; it crushed my hand until I 
thought that the fingers were broken ; it 
threatened to pull my arm from its socket ; 
the pain of it was agonizing. Struggle as I 
would, the cripple drew me down to him ; I 
felt his breath warm upon my face ; I could 
hear him gnashing his teeth in the struggle ; 
the blows I rained upon his head might as 
well have been struck on a ball of stone ; he 
had the strength of a maniac, the cruelty of a 
beast. And presently he had got both his 
arms around me, and I was pressed up 
against his chest, while his left hand fixed 
itself upon my throat and clutched me like a 
collar of steel. 

Long minutes seemed to me in my agony 
to pass as the pair of us struggled on the 
floor of that horrible, vault-like chamber. 
Over and over we rolled ; again and again he 
forced me towards the foul pit which the 
open door had revealed ; again and again, 
with some terrible effort, I dragged him back- 
ward. At one moment lying beneath him 
gasping for my breath, seeing strange lights 
before my eyes, hearing the sound as of 
heavy wheels rolling in my ears, in the next 
I was above him, striking him with all 
my force, beating his face until I could 
feel the blood upon my hands. But 
he had the strength of ten men ; his arms 
were like wire ropes; I knew that he was 
wearing me out. At the last, when he had 
fixed his teeth in my arm, and had almost 
blinded me with his nails, I dropped limp in 
his arms, and I remember only that he 
rolled me over and over, and that I fell with 
a low cry upon my lips into the darkness of 
the pit. 

Weak as I was, the fall did not stun me. 

I had looked in the terrors of imagination to 

go straight down until I struck the filthy 

water he had called me to see ; but I fell no 

more than five feet, and lay, gasping for my 

breath, upon that which appeared to be a 
Vol. x.— 32. 

board covered with slime and mud. But the 
dread of the place was no less horrible ; the 
conviction that I had not many minutes to 
live no less strong. Stinking odours of weed 
and ooze almost stifled me; the intolerable 
darkness was broken only by one ray of 
light which struggled through a gap in the 
slates high above me ; the patter of rats in 
the slimy gutter was very plainly audible ; I 
felt that I should die in the place ; that my 
grave was to be there. The thought was an 
agony beyond anything I could conceive. 

To tell all that I suffered as I lay in the 
darkness of that well — my strength gone, my 
face cut and bruised, my fingers crushed, my 
head on fire — is beyond any art of mine. 
I know only that I would have preferred 
death in any shape to the inconceivably 
repulsive suggestions of the pit ; would 
have ended my life there and then had it 
been in my power. Minutes passed, and I 
was afraid even to move a hand lest I should 
roll from the place whereon I rested to the 
unknown dangers of the dark water below. 
The trickle of the stream as it swelled slowly 
through the tunnel, the sport and splash of 
the rats, the patter of rain upon the roof, 
were the only sounds I heard. The light 
was so faint that even the shape of the well 
was hidden from me. The silence in the 
room above was absolute. 

How long I lay wondering where my body 
would be when day broke I shall never know. 
Hours seemed, to pass and find me still upon 
that refuge. A -dreamy sense, coming of 
weakness and the desire to sleep, crept over 
me. The scampering rats no longer set my 
brain burning. I was content to rest and 
wait for death. And in this new mood of 
my exhaustion I heard the trap above me 
open of a sudden, and the pit was lighted 
with a very blaze of light. I looked up and 
saw the cripple poised there upon his 
crutches, a flaming torch in his hand. For 
a minute he stood like some human 
vulture; his eyes outstanding, his face still 
bloody. Then he closed the trap with a 
snap, and I was alone with the darkness. 
But his torch had shown me where I lay, and 
the mystery of my prison was no longer hid 
from me. 

I had fallen, as it proved, upon a palette 
of the mill-wheel itself, a wheel now shattered 
.and broken and firmly jammed upon its 
axle. High above me was the sluice-gate, 
through the cracks of which the water 
dribbled; before me was a tunnel, leading 
as I surmised to the riv^r. But all the walls 
around bore the slime of centuries upon 



them ; the water below me was like ink ; 
fantastic masses of dirty weed hung from the 
wood Of the wheel ; the air was heavy with 
evil pdours; and of possibility of escape I 
saw none. No acrobat could have scaled 
those slippery walls ; or, scaling them, could 
have found any hole through which to drag 
his body ; I had heard the cripple bolt and 
bar the trap ; of other way, save the way of 
the tunnel, there was no sign. And I felt 
that sooner than face the horrors of that, I 
would die a hundred deaths. 

It may be, if no other impulse had come, 
that I had carried out this intention of 
despair and remained lying upon the palette 
of the wheel until the end of it. It was only 
with a shudder that I could look down to the 
tunnel. The very suggestion that I should 
face it and risk all in an attempt to swim to 
the river chilled me to the marrow. And yet 
as the minutes went, the words, " That is your 
only hope," kept ringing in my head and 
would not be denied. I answered them with 
a low cry of mental pain ; I prayed to God 
that death might come to me in any shape 
but this. 

There was now a little more light in the 
pit. I knew that the dawn had broken, and 
fell to watching a ray of the sunshine 
which shone upon the dark pool. For many 
minutes I watched it in the determination 
that, whatever should be, I would think no 
more of the tunnel. The process became 
interesting, as little things will when great 
dangers press upon us. I observed the line 
of the water and the angle at which the 
beam fell. I looked again and, with a sudden 
overwhelming despair, I marked a change. 

The water was rising in the pit ! 

With what eagerness I watched that line 
in the next ten minutes no pen may tell. 
Inch by inch, from brick to brick, the stream 
mounted. I saw the dark mass begin to 
swirl in the tunnel \ the sound of rushing 
water struck upon my ears ; the splash of the 
rats ceased. While the light became stronger 
minute by minute, and searched more deeply 
the recesses of the pool below, I beheld the 
rising line of the river as a man might behold 
the sword which presently is to strike him. 

The water rose. It had touched my feet 
now. I felt it swilling about my ankles, 
cold and chilling. The eddies of the pool 
had almost become rapids. A murmur as 
of a subterranean river thundering grew 
louder every instant. The wheel shook and 
trembled so that I could scarce hold to 
it Despair, fear of death, more than all 
fear of the tunnel, searched my very bones. 

Though I knew that I must die, that 
many minutes could not pass before the 
filthy water choked me, nevertheless I 
clung to the wheel as though it were my 
only haven ; clung to it while all around the 
current foamed, and the eddies swirled, and 
the air was damp with the spray ; clung to it 
until, with a great crash and sound of tearing, 
it flung me from my hold, and I was sucked 
down into the pit with the river roaring in my 
ears and the darkness of the tunnel upon me. 

Until this moment I do not think that any 
word but one had escaped me during all the 
intense mental suffering of the night ; but I 
remember that as I fell from the wheel, a 
second loud cry, in which all my overwhelm- 
ing misery seemed to find expression, burst 
from my lips. After that I almost lost 
consciousness, while the current hurled me 
headlong into the utter darkness of the tunnel. 
Now gasping for my breath, now plunged 
deep down, with the waters foaming over my 
face, now cut by the jagged stones, I was 
swept onward to the river — onward until my 
body struck heavily upon some obstacle, and 
I found myself, I know not how, with my 
hands upon an iron bar and my head above 
the water. For a moment I welcomed the 
support, clung to it as to life itself. Then, as 
the nature of it and its meaning made itself 
plain to my burning brain, I thought that 
here, indeed, was the crisis, here in truth the 
place of my death. 

The tunnel was barred by an iron grating ! 

For what cause this obstacle was so placed, 
unless it was to prevent the mud silting up 
into the pool above, I do not pretend to know. 
But I can never forget the moments I spent 
beating upon it with my hands, tearing at its 
bars, feeling myself crushed by the weight of 
water upon me, fighting in very despair as a 
man will fight for his life. All around me 
the current thundered, flowing over my 
shoulders, running from my face, streaming 
from my hair. The spray went near to 
choking me again and again. The darkness 
was intense ; the air fetid. I knew that I was 
to die, and yet my whole soul revolted against 
the thought that my grave should be there in 
that unspeakable pit. The very confinement, 
the vault-like arch of bricks; the sense of 
the utter hopelessness of my situation, only 
drove me to new efforts. I fought at the 
grating as at some human opponent who 
stood in my path ; I pressed upon it until 
my arms were torn and bruised ; I felt my 
strength ebbing, a horrid dizziness coming 
upon me ; and still I held myself above the 




This growing weakness, the knowledge 
that moments scarce could pass before the 
end must come, awakened me to my supreme 
effort. I got my foot upon the tunnels bed \ 
and with both hands gripping one of the 
bars, I drew myself back, having the design 
to throw all my weight upon the grating. To 
my inexpressible amazement, the bar, which 
would yield to no pressure in the direction of 
the river \ came away in my hands as I forced 
myself hack from it. The whole grating, 
rotting in its frame of brick, fell with the 
bar. The stream, gathering new force with 
the removal of the obstacle, now carried 
me forward like a match. The waters 
seethed and roared around me ; I was 
buried deep beneath them, dashed headlong 
against the slimy walls, hurled onward to the 
very depths of the vault. And then, in a 
moment, the scene passed. The inky black- 
ness of the current changed to a golden 
green ; the roar of the stream parsed from my 
ears ; I knew that the sun was shining above 
me ; I raised my arms and, striking upward, 
I found myself in the mill-pool, with my own 
canoe not ten yards from my hand. 

I changed my flannels. Nothing, strange to 
say, had been touched of the few necessaries 
I carried in the canoe, but the cripple had 
seized my pocket-book as we struggled 
together upon the floor, and I concluded 
that he had also my watch, unless it was that 
I had left it in the pit. But no money would 
have tempted me back to that house. The 
very thought of it chilled my blood and made 
my nerves quake. I had paddled a couple of 
miles, perhaps, and had come near to a little 
village lying hid in a pretty wood, when to 
my great surprise I saw the girl Fifine sitting 
upon the river's bank. 

She was crying bitterly ; but when I would 
have spoken to her, she fled to the woods 
and was instantly lost to sight. It was only 
when many months had passed that I learnt 
from a neighbouring abbe how much I 
owed to her She had broken the cog- 
wheels of the mill-sluice with a hammer, 
while I supped with Maitre Chalot, and 
so maimed them that the water but half- 
filled the tunnel. I owe it to her alone that 
I was not drowned like a dog. At Roanne, 
I wired to Kngland for money, borrowing 

When I had strength enough to let my 
painter go — and an hour must have passed 
before such strength came to me — I paddled 
quickly to the main stream of the Loire, and 
fled the White Mill as a man flees a pestilence. 
Not a sign of the cripple or of the girl, 
Fifine, could I see. Even the cur no longer 
howled upon the heap of dirty straw. A 
suggestive stillness reigned in all the house, 
It were as if no human thing had entered 
it for centuries. 

Upon an island half a mile from the house 

Digitized by G< 


meanwhile of the priest, who heard my tale 
with little amazement 

"The man has long been suspected," said 
he ; " but what can we do ? He is probably 
en his way to Taris by this time." 

Suc:h an argument was quite unanswerable. 

The French police appreciated it — and did 


Original from 


Illustrated Interviews. 



By Harry How. 

T has, for a long time past, 
been a mystery to many 
people why Mr. Forbes 
Robertson has not launched 
out as a manager on his own 
account. He has long been 
recognised as a very fine actor, and a man 
possessing gifts as great as they are varied. 
The time, however, seems to be now ripe. 

Although I have met Forbes Robertson 
on several occasions, it was not until very 
recently that the enjoyable task was allotted to 
me of spending a day with him, and follow- 
ing him as he unfolded the pages of his 
artistic career. 

Immediately you enter his house in Bed 
ford Square, you are impressed with the fact 
that it is the abode of a man who loves his 
art The finest and purest examples of 
etching and engraving decorate the entrance- 
hall and the walls of the staircase leading to 
his studio upstairs. The dining- room is 
entirely given up to family portraits, all 
painted by Forbes Robertson ; for he was an 
exceedingly clever artist before he became an 
actor. Here hang 
portraits of his father 
and mother, his sister 
and his little niece, 
and his brothers. His 
brothers are able to 
cry out with Words- 
worth, ** We are 
seven," for the new 
Romeo is the oldest 
of eight. 

It is, however, in 
his study upstairs that 
one begins the better 
to breathe the man. 
The walls are covered 
with sketches and 
paintings done by 
himself: Miss Ellen 
Terry, painted in 
1878; Miss Mary 
Anderson, to whose 
Juliet he played 
Romeo ; and a strik- 
ing canvas of Madame 
Modjeska, with whom 
he also played the 
youthful lover which 
Shakespeare drew. 

From a CvpjfrigKt Photo, fry Qcerg* JVj 

Tubes of paint and innumerable brushes are 
scattered about on a delightfully untidy table 
near the easel, for the actor has not altogether 
forgotten his old love. He still finds recrea- 
tion in the palette and brush, his hand has 
not altogether lost its cunning ; for lying 
amongst a heap of papers w T ere many ideas 
for costumes in the revival of " Romeo 
and Juliet' 1 at the Lyceum. Mr, Robertson 
designed all the dresses himself. You will 
also find a design for the gold casket which 
was recently presented to Sir Henry Irving, 
by the actors and actresses of Great Britain, 
in token of the knighthood which was 
recently conferred upon him by Her Majesty. 
A huge case of golf clubs in a far corner 
speaks of the actor's favourite pastime. 

But what impresses the visitor most of all 
are the numberless little suggestions of the 
great respect which the actor has for religion. 
Tiny statuettes of saints fill up odd corners, 
and are set out along the mantelpiece, There 
are a dozen rosaries hanging up near a 
cabinet, whilst immediately over the mantel- 
piece hangs a crucifix ; and not only is the 

crucifix in the study 
alone, but it is to be 
found in many other 
rooms in the house; 
yet Forbes Robert- 
son is not a Roman 
Catholic, I have 
special reason for re- 
ferring to this, and 
the reason will be told 
in its proper place in 
this article* 

Forbes Robertson 
sits down at his desk 
by the window. It 
is a gloriously bright 
dayj and he opens 
the window to permit 
the singing of a 
hundred birds to be 
the better heard in 
the study. Indeed, 
my talk with the 
actor had for its 
accompaniment the 
sweetest of music ; 
and the free notes 
|,:, 6P the tiny members 
MEBSITY t F MHHffiA feathered tribe 


2 53 

seemed to heighten the impression which 
one gained on looking quietly for a few 
moments at Forbes Robertson. He was 
engaged in turning over the pages of 
his diary. I lit a cigarette. One had only 
to contemplate the actor to realize the 
Romeo. His face is of a distinctly classical 
type, a little weary -looking, perhaps, at 
times, yet thoroughly manly and perfectly 
romantic* He possesses a magnificent voice, 
whether at the theatre or at home ; though, 
in speaking to you in his study, whilst his 
voice maintains all its mellowness, it becomes 
gentler ; but the fine tones are always there. 

His life has been a very practical one, yet 
full of interest. When I sought to lead him 
on to refer to anything in which he was the 
hero, he played nervously with his hands and 
tried to evade the question. He is sincerely 
modest, and as he looks back upon his life he 
does so very quietly, and seems inclined to 
slur over those [Kissages for which he should 
be given the highest acknowledgment, and 
seeks to give the credit to anybody but him- 

Forbes Robertson is a comparatively young 
man for the position which he now occupies. 
He was born in London on January 16th, 


14 1 first went to a preparatory school/ 1 he 
said, as he lit a cigarette, li after which I 
went to the Charterhouse, The Charter- 
house was then in the City. I did not come 
much into contact with the old fellows from 
whom Thackeray took his Colonel Newcome, 

Fnrwi a] 

l"HK SltDV. 

but I used to see them in chapel in their long 
black gowns, which used, in some degree, to 
fascinate me. You know, when one is a lad, 
one seldom thinks of the winter of life ; but 
there was one old fellow there in my day 
with a long white beard and hair of pure 
silver, and a grand face, whom I could never 
look upon without becoming thoughtful. I 
am afraid, however, that the impression 
would quickly fade away after I had passed 
him about a dozen yards, 

44 Old Madison Morton was there — old 
Morton who wrote * Box and Cox ' and 
4 Done on Both Sides/ in which the irre- 
pressible Broivnjohn makes love to the 
fascinating Lucy IVhiffles. 

'* Amongst my schoolfellows were a trio 
who have since become well-known actors, 
namely, Cyril Maude, Fred Kerr, and Charles 
Allan* A son of Leech, the caricaturist, was 
also there- He was exceedingly clever at 
pen-and-ink sketches, particularly at drawing 
horses. Poor fellow, he was drowned at sea 
in '75! 

" No, I have never acted at school, though 
they had yearly theatricals*" 

It was at school, however, that young 
Robertson found that he had a love for 
drawing. Curiously enough, the drawing 
master's name was Robertson, too, and 
possibly this might have led the teacher to 
take a greater interest in the taught Young 
Robertson would give up his half-holidays to 
play with the pencil. He was particularly fond 
of sitting in the old quarters of the ancient 

Char terh oust, 
which dated back 
to the lime before 
Henry VII. The 
architecture here 
was particularly 
attractive to the 
lad ; he would sit 
and sketch within 
its precincts -for 

He remained 
three years at the 

I was just lights 
ing another cigar- 
ette, and, reach- 
ing to the mantel- 
piece for a match, 
for a moment I 
examined a beau- 
tiful rosary which 
was hanging near 
~\i^Z^~' .HKIftN- Forbes 



Robertson looked across at me, and smiling 
thoughtfully, said : — 

" 1 suppose you are wondering, but you 
are quite mistaken ! " 

He crossed to the window and looked out 
for a moment or two. Then he sat down, 
and suddenly said, pointing again to the 
rosaries and the crucifix above the mantel- 
piece : " All those are the outcome of the 
happiest, and, if I may say so, the most 
beautiful, days of my life. 

14 When I was nine years old, and during 
my old Carthusian days, all my holidays were 
spent with an old priest near Rouen, His 
name was Victor Godfroi, 
the curt£ of Notre Dames 
de Bon-Secours and the 
builder of the magnifi- 
cent church on the hill 
outside Rouen, of which 
he was cure for many 
years. I remember my 
father and mother taking 
me there, and I was in- 
vited by the old cur£ to 
go and lunch with him* 
I was very much im- 
pressed with hi mas he sat 
at the head of the great 
dining table, surrounded 
by brother priests. In- 
deed, I may say that the 
quiet and solemn way in 
which they said and did 
everything, in my youth- 
ful mind produced a 
feeling of awe, and when 
the cur£ asked me to 
come to lunch again the 
next day, I replied, quite 
nervously, 'Well, thank 
you, some other time/ 
But I soon found my — 
well — almost fright en 
tirely disappear under their gentle kindness. 
Here began the start of what was to influ- 
ence my whole life. It was a most beautiful 
place, such a charming house in the midst 
of a most beautiful garden, along the 
gravelled paths of which the black-robed 
priests walked silently about. 

"For five years I spent nearly half my 
time there, meeting hundreds of priests, and 
sketching the country and the church. 

" 1 used to assist in the services of the 
church, and I have carried every sort of 
banner and cross, and swung the censers. I 
learnt to love M. le Cure de Bon-Secours ; 

From a PAaia, bg WU* it VU-, RnnctL 

his money on the church, and I was never 
happier than when with him. 1 once had an 
idea to fast as he did before mass. I did ; 
and, unfortunately, when kneeling, about 
half way through the service, I fainted. 
The nuns took me out and asked me if I 
wanted anything to eat They gave me 
food, ami I fear I must admit that I never 
fasted again ! 

" I wish I could possibly describe to you 
what a great advantage all this was to me. 
I found the life led by these people so 
thorough and sincere. I grew to be very 
fond of them; and to give you some idea 
of how it influenced 
my after-life, I sent two 
of my sisters to this 
place, where there was a 
very fine girls' school 
kept by nuns, and they 
became Cat holies. Yet 
through all these years 
the old priest never 
asked me to become a 
Catholic, though the 
Archbishop of Rouen 
once sent for me and 
asked : * Are not your 
people afraid of your 
becoming a Catholic ? J 

"In my quiet moments 
my mind often goes 
back to those never-to- 
be-forgotten five years 
of perfect and simple 

" I remember one 
adventure we had there, 
A long f subterranean 
passage led from the 
presbytery to the church, 
and the servants used 
to bring me my robes, 
and 1 used to put them 
on and walk through this near cut. One 
night I was awakened by a terrible noise, 
I jumped out of bed and opened my 
door, and there stood an old priest in a 
long overcoat, with a great pistol in his 
hand, crying out : * There are robbers in 
the church ! f On proceeding to a lower land- 
ing, I passed a number of other priests and 
men-servants who had been awakened at the 
alarm. We all formed a procession, armed 
with anything we could lay our hands on. 
We were certainly ready for the fray ! When 
the servant who carried the lantern got 
to the cellars, he gave in, and turned back 

he was almost a saint; he spent nearly all frighteflrii/prj-acto way, to 



pose as a youthful hero, but I took up the 
lantern and led the way. Up* the passage we 
went On emerging from it into the chapel, 
we saw the robbers cutting away at the 


From a Painting hg Mr. Forte* RvlxrUton, 

stained-glass windows, in order to gain an 
entry to rob the chapel. We gave chase, and 
a very muddled chase ii was: old men, 
young men, with myself and the lantern in 
front, tumbling over one another, over pieces 
of timber, and I know not what At 
last we had to give it up and retire* 
Next day a gendarme came along, and, as 
the leader of the party, severely cross- 
examined me as to whether 1 could give him 
any information. He filled up scores of 
pages of a huge note-book, measured foot- 
prints, and did everything else to* seek a 
clue, but we never found the robbers. 

" That was the only really exciting scene 
that occurred in the pages of my little history 
whilst there \ save, perhaps, when the great 
scourge of cholera broke out. Everywhere 
you went you would meet a funeral pro- 
cession, yet, strange to say, not a single 
one . of the priests or myself caught the 

"It was intended that I should become a 
painter," continued Mr. Robertson, " When 
sixteen I was sent to Hetherley's, in Newman 
Street, to make drawings with a view to 
becoming a student at the Royal Academy, 
I really wanted to become an artist — my 
father and mother's influence over me at this 
time was very considerable. I moved in 

artistic circles, which was a great benefit 
tome; and both Mad ox Brown and Rossetti 
seemed to take a great interest in my work, 
I often used to go out to Rossetti's house at 
Chelsea, and take my drawings to him, and 
he would look at them and say very many 
encouraging things, He was one of the most 
sympathetic men I have ever met I sat to 
him once for a figure of £ Love/ which appears 
in his picture of 'Dante's Dream,' now 
in Liverpool He was a very eccentric man. 
I remember asking him once how he 
managed to get so many beautiful women 
into his pictures. His reply was as amusing 
as it was characteristic, * Ah ! ' he said, 4 1 
make a point of standing at the window on a 
wet day, and if I see a particularly pretty girl 
coming along, 1 go out into the street and 
explain that I am an artist; will she come in 
and sit to me ? Sometimes she will, and 
sometimes she screams. Then there is 
nothing left for me to do but to run and 
shut the door quickly ! 3 Poor Rossetti ! I 
can see him now, very wild-looking, with his 
dark, sad face 

"I got into the Academy somewhere about 
1870, and I came into contact with nearly 
every painter of note of that day. Here are 
some of my studies," 

The actor took from a drawer beneath the 
desk a huge portfolio of sketches, One by 

Frvm a painting hy Mr. l\>rbc 4 Robcrtmn, 

one we went through them, and I could not 
help noticing the almost tender way in which 
Forbes Robertson handled these artistic 
recolUtiiliEfe-'lJVHiy-MkjHI&fyfel They were 



mostly studies of figures ; one in particular 
he drew my attention to. It was un- 

" Now, tell me, tell me," he said, quite 
'excitedly, "what do you think of that head 
and shoulders ? " 

I told htm I considered it perfect 

" Ah ! JJ he exclaimed, apparently gratified, 
" I did not do it; Sir John Millais worked 
for twenty minutes on that head and 
shoulders, anil that is why I have not 
finished the sketch. 

" I came into contact with nearly every 
painter of note of that day : O'Neil, Pettie, 
Orchardson, Frith, Faed, E. M, Ward, Sant, 
Sir Frederick Leigh- 
ton, Stacy Marks, and 
what very few people 
can say— poor Fred 
Walker. Walker 
always struck me as 
being more afraid of 
us than we of him. 
When I first got into 
the painting-room my 
easel was next to 
Sam Waller's, whose 
pictures are so 
well known through 
e ngra v i ngs, Charles 
Land seer was the 
curator in the Antique 
School ; he was al- 
ways very grave, and 
spoke little. We 
always thought that he 
composed his jokes 
when visiting the 
students, Tom Land- 
seer was also with us. 
He was very deaf, 
and his want of 
memory would some- 
times prevent him 
from hearing his own lone and remember- 
ing it, whilst at one moment he would 
talk very loud, and at another in a low 

"They were very happy days at the 
Academy. Some of the students were 
typical ones ; wearing the long, straight hair, 
which turned up at the ends and never 
curled, and the whvt jacket, and smoking 
long pipes* We were all going to be Presi- 
dents, we were perfectly satisfied about that ! 
Well, I saw the failures there, too — men 
struggling on and on. There was one man 
who had been there thirty years, and when I 
left he was still working on, on, on ! ' 


From u f'tttntiirn fj'f 

Amongst Mr. Robertson's fellow-students 
were Frank DTcksee, Alfred Gilbert, Water- 
house, and Hamo Thorn ycroft. The young 
men used to adjourn to a very favourite 
chop-house (Snow's)* Now the Academy 
student has his regular club-house, and 
evening dress has supplanted the velvet 
coat. They were great singing and recit- 
ing days ; the young students would adjourn 
to one of their homes, and singing and 
speeches would go up to the accompaniment 
of pipes and been Mr* Robertson was re- 
cognised as the actor, and he treated his 
audiences to such pieces as "The Raven," 
and what he now refers to as " other 

morbid things ! J? He 
frankly confesses that 
though he worked 
very hard he did not 
make painting pay, 
only selling three or 
four pictures a year. 
He received j£$ for 
his first picture, and 
has had as much as 
^15 for a head* 
During the last year 
he was at the school 
he painted a few por- 
traits. He remained 
at the Academy for 
three years. 

It was the influence 
of the late Mr. W. (i, 
AVills that was in- 
strumental in secur- 
ing Mr. Robertson his 
first theatrical engage- 

At the mention 
of Wills' name we 
could not help re- 
membering what a 
fine painter, as 
well as dramatist, he was, how thoroughly 
good-natured and Bohemian* We thought 
of his money - box, the famous receptacle 
for cash which he always kept at the dis- 
posal of anybody who was hard up. They 
had only to call at his house and help them- 

Neither could we forget his tea-pot and 
cracked blue china cup. He invariably 
made his own tea ; and we pictured him in 
his somewhat untidy studio in the neighbour- 
hood of Karl's Court, watching it draw as he sat 
in his old dressing-gown and still more ancient 
smoking c£j&nffind I ifrrOTOagi nation we looked 

Jfr. tforfaf Rabrrtmtf*. 



It is told of this picture that someone 
went up to Mr. G. F, Watts, R.A,, who was 
looking at it when the work was on exhibi- 
tion, and asked: "Is that yours, Watts?" 

*THK EARL tJF LEICRiTEk " (Marie: hUuii\). 
Fmm a Fhulu. by Attiyull, JWw iiuntl Street, 


11 No/' replied the Royal Academician, 
wish to goodness it was ! ,J 

" I started at ^4 a week," said the actor, 
"appearing in a good part at the Princess's 
Theatre, in * Marie Stuart/ a. play by Wills. 
Mrs, Rousby played the titular part I 
remember leading her on to the stage on a. 
white horse, and I thought it very fine. I 
need hardly tell you that all my fellow-students 
were there the first night ; but I par- 
ticularly requested them not to applaud, 
in case it might be mistaken for a 
claque. This engagement only lasted a few 
weeks, when I immediately joined a travel- 
ling company which had been organized by 
Charles Reade, and of which Miss Ellen 
Terry was a member. Reade was a very 
charming man \ he gave me a commission to 
paint a picture, for I should tell you that I 
was still keeping up my painting. I was out 
with Reade for about five or six months, 
when I joined the stock company at Man- 
chester to support Phelps— a company which 
included Fred Murvin, F, FL Macklin, and 
Charles Vandenhoff. Phelps as IP'o/sey was 
great, I played Cromwell. 

" I have no hesitation in saying that Phelps 
practically taught me my business. Though 
it is generally considered that he was very 
blunt and sharp in his manner, I always 
found him most kind and encouraging : 

Vol. X.-33. 

though outwardly hard at heart, he was 
really the kindest man I ever met* He 
literally instructed me. He once came 
down to rehearse ' The School for Scan- 
dal/ in which he played Sir Peter Teazk* 
The lady who was to play Lady leazk 
thought she was particularly grand in the 
part^ and being a beginner she gave herself 
a good many airs, She persisted in making 
all manner of suggestions to Phelps as to 
where it would be best for him to stand in 
the scene, and where for her. Phelps accepted 
all these proposals very quietly. She kept 
these little ideas of hers going all through 
the rehearsal At last Phelps's umbrella began 
to stamp on the stage. * I think, Mr. Phelps/ 

she said, ' if you were to stand there ' 

' Madam, at night I shall be here ; where you 
will be, God only knows ! ' " 

Mr. Robertson then went to the Gaiety, 
and appeared in a long series of the legiti- 
mate drama. The company included such 
names as Hermann Vezin, Arthur Cecil, 
Edward Righton, J, G + Taylor, John McClean, 
Mrs. John Wood, Miss Rose Leclercq, and 
Miss Furtado. An engagement followed at 
the Olympic, and Mr. Robertson appeared in 
"The Two Orphans" and "The Spend- 
thrift/' the latter a play by the late James 

Mr. Robertson was exceedingly fortunate 

" s.BONTES " (Winter's Tak). 
From a Phvtu. ba th\ Cuinrntut Stu<iu\ Mortimer Strtdi W- 

in his engagements, playing in and out for 
four y^r^rRfffffil fl'S^t without stopping. 



" v\ lkimjJiam " (Htttry VI LL). 
From a /"ftflfrr t/y Window & Grew, 

night, and on the* following Monday he 
would be found at another house- It was 
hard work, but fine experience. During all 
this time Mr. Forbes Robertson never 
doubled a part. The first great impression 
he made was in a piece called "Coraine," by 
Robert Buchanan, produced at the Lyceum. 
The critics began to speak about him, and 
the managers to keep a watchful eye on him. 
His successs in "Coraine" gained for him a 
position in the original cast of "Eton! Druce" 
at the Ha> market in 1876— a play full of 
character, in which Hermann Vezin played 
the blacksmith, Dan 1 !, and old Henry Howe 
was still fulfilling a part of the longest 
engagement on record —forty-four years at 
one house ! Then came work at the 
Olympic, and an appearance as Count Orhf^ 
in " Diplomacy," at the Prince of Wales's, 

"Oddly enough," continued Mr* Robertson, 
" the last week of the run, Mr, H. B. Conway, 
who played fulian Beatukrty met with an 
accident, and I took up his part ; so you see I 
played it in the original run, and have played 
it twice since. My first original leading 
part was Sir Horace \Vtlby\ in i Forget-Me- 
Not,' in August, 1879." 

Mr Robertson then appeared in "Duty" 
at the Prince of Wales's, and subsequently 

went to the Hay market with Mr. and Mrs. 
Bancroft, playing Sergeant Janes in " Ours," 
Lord Gloss mo re in "Money," and Krux in 
"School." Then came the first holiday the 
actor had bad for four years, 

" I went down to Cornwall," he said, "and 
there met, in the same little hotel where I 
stayed, Madame Modjeska, her husband, and 
sister The Rev. Mr. Jackson, the rector of 
the place, persuaded Madame Modjeska to 
give two or three scenes from 'Romeo and 
Juliet.' She asked me if I would help her 
by appearing as Romeo. I did, and this 
was the first time ' I had appeared in the 
character. We rigged up a platform in the 
rectory garden, and this was really the begin- 
ning of pastoral plays. Someone sent a 
chatty paragraph about the performance to 
the Worte \ and people evidently considered 
it a happy thought, and copied it, 

" After my holiday, I returned once more 
to the Prince of Wales's Theatre, playing in 

* Forget- Me-Not ' and a Dutch piece called 
'Annemint.' Madame Modjeska opened at 
the Court in iSKo, and I supported her 
once more in i Romeo and Juliet,' and in 

* Adrienne Leeouvreur.' Modjeska was a very 
beautiful Juliet. I went on tour with her, 
and then to the Court to play Claude Glenn 
in 'The Par venue.' 




"The year 1882 found me at the Lyceum 
as Claudia in ' Much Ado About Nothing/ 
I painted the church scene in Sir Henry 
living's brilliant production of Shake- 
Once again I joined 
the Haymarket and 

spear es comedy, 
the Bancrofts at 
appeared as Lord 

Caryl in * Ix)rds and 

Commons,' Sir George Ormonde in 'Peril/ 
Cup lain Absolute in ' The Rivals/ Julian in 
' Diplomacy/ Sir Charles Pommander in 
6 Masks and Faces/ and assisted at the 
farewell performance of Mr. and Mrs, 
Bancroft on July 20th, 18S5." 

The infinite variety of parts which Mr. 
Robertson had played, and his brilliant con- 
ception of them, had 
gained for him a firm 
footing on the stage. 
He was the recognised 
Romeo. Hence he 
toured with Miss Mary 
Anderson in America, 
playing the last-named 
part, together with 
Ing&ma t\ Pyg m a lion % 
Orlando^ and Claude 
Ale I node. After an 
engagement at the 
Opera Com i que, in a 
series of Old English 
comedies, he appeared 
with Miss Mary 
Anderson again at the 
Lyceum as Leontes in 
" The Winter's Tale." 
He spoke the first 
lines as Orlando at the 
Shaftesbury Theatre, 
and appeared on the 
opening night at the 
Garrick Theatre in 
"The Profligate." 
His Scarp la, in " La 
Tosca," was a re- 
markably brilliant performance. He created 
Cap fain Brandon in "Dream Faces," and 
was in the original production of " Lady 
Bountiful/' His rendering of Buckingham 
in " Henry VIII./' at the Lyceum, will 
not be readily forgotten by those who 
witnessed it. He remained at Sir Henry 
living's theatre for the run of the piece, 
and returned to the Garrick to play in 
•' Robin Goodfellow/' and in revivals of 
" Diplomacy," ll Caste/' and " Money," He 
was the original Walter Forbes in "Mrs. 
Lcssingham." After touring with Miss Kate 
Rorke, he was engaged by Sir Henry 
Irving to create the part of Launceht in 

" RCMCO " (Romeo and JulieL), 
Krwn A Photo- bff W. *£ i>- Dcsmcg, 

a King Arthur." Tu many minds this is the 
finest thing that Mr. Forbes Robertson has 
ever done. It was perfectly picturesque, 
perfectly romantic, yet perfectly natural 
He had to return to the Garrick Theatre 
to appear as Lucas Cleeve, in the first 
performance of "The Notorious Mrs. Ebb- 
smith," and this was his last appearance 
previous to his producing a Romeo and 
Juliet" at the Lyceum. 

It is interesting to note that Mr* Forbes 
Robertson is one of the quickest studies we 
have got. He believes in the early morning 
for studying [>arts, and has on several occa- 
sions become letter-perfect in the lines 

appertaining to a big 
character in two days. 
It was just before 
leaving that I hinted 
that probably he had 
had one or two amus- 
ing experiences during 
his stage career. He 
had, He replied, 
merrily : — 

u 1 am not likely, 
I think, to forget my 
experience at the 
1 .yceu m, and more 
funny incidents than 
those which happened 
on the first night have 
never, I believe, taken 
place on any stage. 
Of course I am speak- 
ing of a time when 
the theatre was not 
in Irving's hands. I 
can only tell you of 
two. The late Tom 
Meade (whom you 
remember was such a 
splendid ghost in 
* Hamlet') was a 
member of the company. In a certain play 
he knew very little of his part; in fact, I do not 
think he knew it at all At his first entrance 
he completely stuck, and in order to assist him- 
self, with a view to getting some idea of the 
words, he walked down with a tragic stride 
to the footlights and said, i Ah ! here I am ! ' 
but the words would not come, so he walked 
back again, Still he could not remember, so 
he proceeded to walk once more to the foot- 
lights ; and, with even greater emphasis 
than before exclaimed, * Here I am ! J 
and somebody in the gallery cried out, 
1 All right, Torn : nv see you are ! Get on !* 



someone who is brought up before him, in 
order to help himself to remember the text, lie 
kept crying out : ' Oh, l J aul ! ' — that was the 
name of the character — £ Oh, Paul !' till at 

last the exclamation: £ Oh, Paul! 1 became 
so frequent that someone in the audience 
exclaimed in a very audible whisper: ^h, 
Paul: Paul, wherefore persecuted thou me?'" 


By M. Griffith. 



.-IE dramatic firmament of the 
present age is brilliant with 
stars of varying magnitude 
and power, foremost among 
them being Sarah Bern hard t, 
resplendent with the undying 

youth of genius, with her golden voice and 

serpent-like grace ; Eleanora Dtise, small, 

pale-faced, but with dark, glorious eyes that 

would render the most commonplace woman 

irresistibly attractive ; quiet, and so natural 

in her acting, that we overlook the consum- 
mate art of which it is the result. Then 

Rejane, that mistress of comedy, arch, with an 

impudence that smacks of the boulevards, 

coquettish or shrewish, a woman of the 

people, full of strong 

devotion or deep 

tenderness, that 

keeps her audieme; 

spellbound or sways 

them at will to smiles 

or tears, Modjeska, 

ever memorable as 

one of the 'sweetest 

oi/u/kts —girlish, or 

womanly, and 

dainty ; her foreign 

accent enhancing the 

beauty of her im- 
personation. And 

last, but not least, 

our latest discovered 

star— the new Julkt 

— the winsome, 

haunting Mrs. "Rat* 


It was to interview 

this actress that I 

one day recently 

wended my way to 

Ashley Gardens, 

which is known to 

be a flat-laud of cele- 

brtties, numbering 

among its hundred 

tenants, lawyers, 

journalists, com- 

|h>mts politicians, 

officers , and one 

actress. I remember seeing it stated in one 
journal that the " postal authorities * have 
a recognised formula for misdirected letters — 
*' Gone away: try Ashley Gardens "— and it 
is a pretty sure find. However this may be, 
I was successful in finding out where Mrs, 
Patrick Campbell lived, and also in finding 
her at home. She received me most kindly, 
and seeing that I was k&rs de combat from 
a sprain of the right thumb, she very 
kindly said, "Let me write for you." For a 
moment I felt tempted to accept the offer, 
for what a novelty to the readers of The 
Strand Magazine would have been an 
interview with Mrs, Patrick Campbell written 
by hersel£ But a little reflection convinced 

me that the result, 
however interesting 
from its uniqueness, 
would be wofully 
meagre of its sub- 
ject, for it is very 
difficult to get this 
clever lady to speak, 
much less to write, 
about herself. 

il Are you really 
an Englishwoman ? " 
was my first ques- 

"Yes, I think so, 31 
was the reply. "My 
father was English, 
and my mother is 
an Indian ; I was 
born in Kensington, 
and, with the excep- 
tion of a year in 
Paris in order to 
study French, and 
the time I have spent 
touring, I have lived 
entirely in London." 
"What induced 
you to adopt the 
stage ? Was it neces- 
sity or choice ? " 
"Choice and the 
I f "BW of hard work. 
^v^arj^^jf^^^/^UAIV'ERSITY OF NM(yHI&feWand; j said 



the drawing-room. 
Front a Phvto. to KvtU Fragnett * Co.+ ttJ, Sloan* Stmt, S. W. 

Mrs* Patrick Campbell, "is of Scotch 
parentage, with a half Irish name, and 
soon after I was twenty-one he had to 
go abroad on business — and was away 
from me nearly seven years* Now I 
have told you my age," she added, 

11 YeSj but it was not very difficult to 
guess it from your appearance, although 
some of the too clever critics described 
you as a * middle-aged beauty. 3 " 

Mrs*. Patrick Campbell went on to tell 
me how lonely she felt during the 
absence of her husband, and how much 
she longed for some steady work ; at 
last she got a friend who knew Mr, J, H. 
Macklin to obtain from him a letter of 
introduction to Mr. Harrington Bailey, 
on whom she called, and having paid 
her guinea entered her name on his 
hooks. The result of this was a twelve 
weeks' touring engagement as Mrs. 
Lynn Losehy, the leading part in Messrs. 
Hermann Vezin and Robert Buchanan's 
play, "Bachelors." She understood her 
part so well and acted it so creditably, 
that she had no difficulty in getting other 

engagements. S~+ r\r\a I '.n 

I must explain that previous to this 

she had gained some experience as a 
member of the Anomalies Amateur 
Dramatic Company, with which she had 
had opportunities of rehearsing and 
playing such parts as Marie Graham- ~ 
originally created by Ada Cavendish — 
in Maik Quinton's u In His Power," 
and her first appearance as an amateur 
was when she played in this piece at 
Lower Norwood, Her other roles at 
this time were Alice Petherkk, in " Blow 
for Blow " ; Mirza, in Gilbert's fairy 
comedy, "The Palace of Truth"; Stella, 
in "Buried Talent"; and Millicent 
Boycott, in the " Money Spinner." 

Her first venture with the " Bachelor " 
company was at the Alexandra Theatre, 
Liverpool, in November, 1888, and this 
was the first time she had ever played on 
a regular stage. The second engagement 
was with Mrs. Bandmann Palmer's 
11 Tares "Company, in which she played 
the part of Rachel Denison (first played 
by Miss Sophie Eyre) + The Press noticed 
the talent of the young actress in very 
strong terms ; it was said to be " a 
splendid conception, and that she had 
proved herself an actress of exceptional 



merit" When the tour was over, she joined 
Mr. Ben Greet and Miss Eweretta l.awrenee, 
taking part in " Masks and Faces/' u Adrienne 
Lecouvreur/' " Kitty Clive/' etc, and on 
her second tour with Mr. Greet she played 
lead in "Aladdin" and "The Hunch- 
back." In the March of 1S90 she had the 
joy of playing the latter part at a London 
theatre, for Mr* S. Hayes's annual matinee at 
the Adelphi Theatre, and, a little later, a 
matinee of " Buried Talent " was given at 
the Vaudeville, " Stella being charmingly 
acted by Mrs. Patrick Campbell," being the 
opinion expressed of her performance in a 
leading paper. 

The young actress's next experience was a 
three months' tour with Mr* Ben G reel's 
Pastoral Play Company. Her repertoire 
included Hckna in " Midsummer Night's 
Dream," Rosalind in "As You Like it," 
Eglamour in * l Love in a Mist," and Stelfc in 
" Buried Talent 5 '; both these latter parts 
she created. The company were invited to , 
give their performance of " As You Like It 7J 
at Wilton, the Earl and Countess of Pem- 
broke's seat ; it was a great success, and was 
repeated later at Ashridge, Great Berkha nip- 
stead, before the Karl and Countess Brown low 
and many distinguished guests. 

"No finer setting," said Mrs. Campbell, 
"for one of Shake- 
speare J s mas t erp i ece s 
could be imagined 
than this fine park, 
overshadowed by 
grand old oaks, 
beeches, and elms, 
and carpeted with 
golden - tinted brac- 
ken ; through the 
branches of the trees 
we occasionally 
caught sight of stately 
deer, and it was truly 
a lovely spot ! Some 
of our supers on this 
occasion were gentle- 
men guests staying at 

It was not difficult 
to picture the scene 
she described, and 
also to recall her 
Rosalind^ for she 
played as one in- 
spired, with a half 
arch, half pathetic 
coquetry, which was 
most bewitching. The 


jstrf-A "{The Tn.]ivi|K-t ( 

late Earl of Pembroke described her Rosalind 
as ''the best he had ever seen — not except- 
ing Ada Rehan> admirable as she was — 
marvellous for the truthfulness of the light 
passages, and marvellous in the pathetic 

The Hon, Mrs, Percy Wyndham, who had 
seen Mrs- Patrick Campbell in the pastoral 
plays at Wilton, encouraged her to give a 
matinee of " As You Like It n in London, so 
the Shaftesbury Theatre was rented for 
the occasion, and the performance given 
under the patronage of the Princess Chris- 
tian, and a host of other representatives 
of rank and fashion, Mrs, Patrick Campbell 
looked handsomer than ever in her Grecian 
draperies of green and white, although many 
preferred her in the forest scene, in which 
she appeared in a tan leather jerkin, bordered 
with rich sable, the belt fastened by a finely 
cut steel buckle, the long soft hoots, also tan ; 
the rest of the dress being of emerald green 
velvet, with knots of rose colour. The 
success of this venture may be judged 
from the fact of her being immediately 
engaged by Messrs. Gatti for a new play 
which was about to be produced at the 
Adelphi, called u The Trumpet Call/' by 
Messrs. Sims and Buchanan, and in this she 
played the part of Asirea, a picturesque 

gipsy, strolling actress 
and singer, and it was 
a splendid test of the 
power and versatility 
of the actress. 

Nearly all play- 
goers will remember 
the contretemps which 
occurred in one 
scene — the " Doss 
House "—which was 
sufficient to unnerve 
the most experienced 
actress. In the scene 
mentioned, Mrs, 
Patrick Campbell had 
to appear almost in 
rags, her skirt being 
of some thin black 
material with but 
scanty garments 
underneath. Owing 
to the carelessness 
of her dresser, the 
skirt became un- 
fastened and dropped 
below her knees be- 
fore she noticed it 

WWffiSlfyOFMT(Jffl^N who wtre 



present are never likely to forget the 
dignity and calm self-possession which she 
displayed in so trying a moment, nor the 
withering scorn of the glance she directed at 
one or two ill-bred persons who seemed to 
regard this mishap as an occasion for mirth, 
(lathering her dress quickly round her, she 
m-nle her exit, and on her return played with 
more than her usual power and excellence, 

" My next part," continued Mrs. Campbell, 
u was a great contrast to Astrea ; it was 
Elizabeth Cr>jmweU % in £ The White Rose/ 
a sweet, pathetic Puritan character. I next 
played Tress Purvis in 'The Lights of Home,' 
a fisherman's daughter ; perhaps you re- 
member it ? After that came l Black 
Domino/ in which I took the part of 
Clarke Berton. I created those four parts, 
all of which were studies of widely diverse 
characters, I ought 
to have mentioned 
that during the run 
of ' The Trumpet 
Call 1 I had a severe 
attack of typhoid 
fever, and was com- 
pelled to relinquish 
my engagement for 
six months, and 
my place was filled 
during my absence 
by Miss Claire 
I van ova. H 

"Was it not 
while you were 
playing the part of 
Clarke Berton that 
Mr. Pinero saw 
you ? " 

" Yes, the death 
scene in the last act, I believe, impressed 
him ; anyhow, I got the offer of the part 
of the Second Airs. Tanqueray % but to my 
great disappointment the Messrs, Gatti re- 
fused to release me, and it was assigned 
to Miss Robins ; but ultimately the manage- 
ment agreed to let me go, and when Miss 
Robins heard of it she resigned this grand 
part without a murmur. Was it not a noble 
and generous act ? " 

It is at this point that Mrs. Patrick 
Campbell's marvellous dramatic career 
really starts. For a young, comparatively 
inexperienced, actress to be chosen to create 
a new and most difficult rok t in this master- 
piece of modern plays — one which was 
intended by its author to convey the moral, 
"That we are punished through the good 
that is in us, not through the bad, and, to 

prove his theory, that no man or woman is 
wholly good, or wholly bad "—-was a signal, as 
soon as the cast was announced, for envious 
croakers to predict that the whole thing would 
be an ignominious failure. The result proved 
the wisdom of Mr. Pinero 's choice. 

When we recollect that a few years ago 
Mrs. Campbell was only the leading lady of 
a suburban amateur dramatic club, and that 
her whole stage experience only extends over 
a period of about five years, her present 
position goes far to prove that she has not 
yet attained the zenith of her artistic career, 
especially if we compare her rapid progress 
with that of the great Siddons, whose earliest 
appearance in London in 1775 was a failure, 
and who only achieved her first success after 
eight years' hard work in the provinces, on 
her reappearance in London in the year 1 782. 

/■Yorji al'h/'Ut. bjf] 

ARICE BERTON " (Black Domino} 

\.\tfmt ElU*. 

" Do you not think that the long run of 
pieces, especially for an actor or an actress 
who creates a rolezwd becomes identified with 
the character, is harmful to their artistic 
progress ? " 

11 It is said so, and perhaps French actresses 
have the advantage of us in that ; it does 
seem difficult to disentangle oneself at once 
from a part that has become second nature, 
and to take up another totally different It 
is a sort of transmigration business, is 
it not ? " 

"'Kho critics ought to have thought of that 
when you played Dukk Larondk in * The 
Masqueraders.' " 

" Yes ; to start with, the part was not a 
congenial one, and you know I played the 
Second Mrs. Tinqwrxv for three hundred 

night \iRfteh**Hfo]f difficu,t to 



"dulcie LAKONni!'/' (The Masqueraik'r*). 
From a Photo, by the London Siermteapte Com f tony, 

dissociate oneself from such characters at 
once. Talking about critics, one of my trades- 
men the other day, when my lady secretary 
went to his shop to purchase somethings 
inquired very kindly after my health, and 
said, 'Tell Mrs. Campbell not to mind the 
critics: the tradespeople all like her/ He 
also sent me a bottle of tonic, which he said 
might do me good." 

" What did you open with when you joined 
Mr. Tree at the Haymarket? ,? 

"*John-a-Dreams, ! in which I played Art A? 
Cloud. I enjoy any part that is full of human 
interest. Then followed another of Mr, 
Pinero's, 'The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith, 5 
which was a great success, and then I 
played Fedora" 

u Have you any special liking for any 
particular rdk ? " 

* l No, I like any part that is human," and 
Mrs, Campbell went on to say how kind and 
patient Mr. Pinero has been with her, and 
also spoke with great warmth of the thought- 
ful consideration with which she had been 
treated by both Mr, and Mrs. Tree, "This," 
she said, handing me a handsome silver 
ornament, "was given me with a bunch of 
orchids by Mrs, Tree on the first night of 
1 John-a-Dreams.' 1 forgot to tell you/* she 
continued, '* that when I was playing the 
Second Mrs, Tanqueray\ and after 1 had 

played it about a hundred times, one memor- 
able evening, in the first act I quite forgot my 
part. My memory was a perfect blank, and 
no prompting availed me, I had at last to 
read my part all through the scene, but some 
who were in front said 1 had never played 

Asked as to her future plans, Mrs, Camp- 
bell said Lhat she was to have one of her 
dearest wishes fulfilled, and that was to play 
Juliet^ Mr- Robertson being the Romeo, 
" That will be in September, "she added, " and 
I am looking forward to it with great pleasure." 

Mrs. Patrick Campbell looks much younger 
off the stage than she does on ; she is tall, 
slender, and almost fragile-looking, with a 
very pale, delicate oval face, rendered more 
so by her dark hair and beautiful large eyes, 
both of which are inherited from her Italian 
mother. In temperament she is strongly 
emotional and highly nervous ■ the long, thin 
fingers seeming to have a language of their 
own, which is most expressive ; her voice is 
low and very sweet, she speaks slowly, and 
the slight strange accent or intonation of 
some of her words is quaint and in keeping 
with her appearance. Taken altogether, her 
personality is very striking, and her style of 
dress is remarkable for its oiiginality, her 
wardrobes being rich in the variety of the 
number of her gowns, which, in splendour of 
material and perfection of style, are un- 

The costume plays nearly as important a 




part in making the audience understand 
and enter into the individuality of a 
character as does the acting itself, and Mrs, 
Campbell is as well up in the mysteries of 
successful dressing as is the great Sarah 
Bernhardt. She seems to have a special los r e 
for fur, passementerie, and lace, from the rich 
guipure to the cobwebby, snow-white dentelk 
that would grace Titania's dainty form. Two 
of her cloaks, garments which are generally 
supposed to be most prosaic, were of ideal 
elegance. One of tan-cloth, with bands and 
collar of beaver, was lined with the richest 
velvet, the colour of Parma violets ; the other 
was of thick white 
silk, lined with tur- 
quoise silk, and 
bordered with 
glistening passemen- 
terie. A lovely gown 
was one, worn in 
* ' T h e M asq u e rader s, ' ' 
of pale rose -pink 
br ocad e, e m br oi d ered 
with sprays of stiver 
fern leaves, the skirt 
looped up on the 
left side over a petti- 
coat of glittering 
silver embroidery. 
The long train was of 
rose satin on which 
silver ferns seem to 
have been thrown* 
the bodice low and 
crossed, and com- 
pleted by a bow with 
long ends of silver 

As Paula^ Mrs. 
Campbell looked 
superb in a dress of 
sunset-coloured satin 
with a deep flounce, 

edged with a band of net covered with gold- 
fish-scale sequins, bodice and epaulettes 
similarly adorned, and full sleeves of net 
glistening with sequin?. Over this handsome 
gown was worn a gorgeous cloak of yellow 
satin s embroidered with gold, the lining and 
collar being of emerald velvet ; while yellow 
ostrich feathers bordered the latter, and were 
continued in boa fashion down the front. 
Another cloak worn in the same play was 
of gold and white satin brocade, the capes 
of wide gold lace. 

In ** Fedora " one dress is of cloth of gold, 
the slippers being made of the same rich 
material No description can do justice to 

Vol. x.-34. 

' paula tanqueray" (The Second Mre. Tanqueray). 
From a Photo, by Alfred Ellia, 

such costumes, ever) - one of which is the 
creation of an artist. I wish I could tell my 
women readers what artist \ but, alas 3 Mrs. 
Campbell was deaf to all my adroit attempts 
at worming that secret out of her. Solomon 
in all his glory, or all the Indian Rajahs 
combined, could not surpass her in the 
splendour and beauty of her toilettes. 

It is whispered that her Juliet gowns will 
set all London talking ; but I have quite lost 
myself on the great dress question, and must 
return to matters of more general interest, 
I was introduced to two of Mrs, Patrick 
Campbell's pets, a stately and rather fin pug, 

rejoicing in the name 
of "She," and her 
adopted daughter, a 
rollicking, boisterous 
puppy, named 
*' Hum pa Dincka." 

I made a liberal 
selection of portraits, 
and signified my wish 
to have them. 

"What, all these!" 
said Mrs. Campbell. 
*' What can you do 
with them all ? " 

"They will interest 
the readers of The 
Strand Magazine," 
I said, and received 
a smiling assent 

Rarely could one 
meet with a more 
charming study than 
the subject of the 
present article, for it 
is human nature to 
admire and respect 
those who, queiqne soil 
hur metier^ surpass 
anyone else in any- 
thing they undertake. 
The drawing-room in which we had our 
chat was a sunny, pleasant room, the colouring 
being mostly blue and white with a large 
bow window and cosy couches and chairs, 
a piano, and the thousand and one 
dainty trifles which go far to show r the 
character of its owner, A little table devoted 
to silver curios numbered among them 
Handel's snuff-box and shoe-buckles ; an old 
spy-glass in a velvet case, believed to be 
his also, and many valuable gifts. Mrs. 
Campbell also collects and considers among 
her choicest treasures rare copies of books f 
several being Morris's beautiful Kelmaeott 

^^'miVERLWbPTOHk^.fr 5 of white 



vellum, tooled with gold, and tied with 
narrow green ribbon with gold tassels. 
An autograph allium, a most exquisite 
example of the bookbinder's art, had been 
presented to her by the printers. A volume 
of poems, a gift from a well-known poet, bore 
the following dedication : — 

To Mks, Patrick Cami'ejem., 
A tribute to her incomparable art, and to her in- 
comparable personality. 

The walk of the drawing-room were 
covered with sketches, photos., and engrav- 
ings, several being copies of Burne-Jones's 
paintings ; a sketch in water-colour of Mrs 
Campbell was the work of her sister ; another 
by Mr. Phil Hume-Jones, symbolic of her 
name Stell<^ represented her gazing longingly 
at the stars, while from below she herself was 
regarded as a star. Other sketches were Ellen 
Terry as Ophelia, by Watts; "The Amber 
Witch/' "The Happy Warrior," and Duret's 
"Saint Joseph," all in quaint green frames 
with black beading. Some old carved oak, a 
grandfather^ clock, brass mounted escritoire, 
and a few good specimens of Flemish pottery^ 
odds and ends of brocade, (lowers and palms, 
completed the decoration of this room. 

Mrs. Campbell has two children— a boy 
and a girl. In addition to her talents as an 
actress, she is a 
delightful hostess, a 
good conversation- 
alist, and an accom- 
plished musician, 
as was noticed by 
those who saw her 
i n u Mrs. Tan- 
queray," the frag- 
ments she then 
played being the 
composition of her 
brother, who is a 
very clever musi- 

It mciy be in- 
teresting to learn 
the opinion ex- 
pressed of Mrs. 
Patrick Campbell's 
talent by an actress 
whose name at 
least is known to 
everyone — Mrs, 
Crowe — the Miss 

Bateman of * 4 Leah ? fame, whose father 
was at one time lessee of the Lyceum 
Theatre, and who introduced Mr. Irving 
to the London theatrical world. It is that 
she is l4 as great a genius as is now on the 

Another authority said : M Her creation of 
the part of the Strom/ Airs. Tanqueray would 
live in the history of dramatic triumphs." 
One of the most remarkable pictures in the 
Academy of last year was her portrait as 
Paula Tanqu€ra\\ by Mr. Solomon J. 
Solomon. It represented her as she appeared 
on the stage illumined by the upward glow 
from the foot-lights. The passionate expres- 
sion of an unutterable anguish and the 
pose of the figure are very pathetic and 
instinct with human interest. Mr. Solomon, 
when painting his picture, had a stage 
erected in his studio, lit in the same way 
as that of the St. James's Theatre. One 
of Mrs, Campbell's most valued souvenirs 
is her own copy of "The Second Mrs. 
Tanqueray," which is covered with pencil 
hints, suggestions, and memoranda, and is 
carefully preserved in a blue morocco cover. 
She commits her parts to memory usually by 
writing them out, a plan also pursued by 
Miss I CI It n Terry and Miss Amy Rozelle. 

Doubtless, Mrs. 
Campbell owes 
much of her fire 
and highly nervous 
sensitiveness to the 
southern blood 
that is in her veins. 
She is very ambi- 
tious, and a very 
hard worker, and 
if her health does 
not fail, she will — 
it may be safely 
prophesied — be 
not only one of 
the handsomest 
and most graceful 
women on the 
Knglish stage, but 
also the great est tra- 
gedienne, She has 
c v e ry n at u ra 1 a d va n - 
tage; the rest is only 
a question of time 
and experience. 

KfcBKMlTK " (Tlir NoliiniiUs Mrs. f'LiilihUlMJIfJb I r 

^pf I pfcota bit A i/rrd £J|i* UN y I H 3 1 TPQ m 

Pfrpfe bit A i. 



Gleam? from the Dark Continent. 

By Charles J. Mansford. 

E patient, sahib," said Hassan, 
our guide, as he glanced into 
my companion's face, which 
indicated plainly enough 
the latter's vexation at the 
delay just then hindering our 

" Patient ! " exclaimed Denviers. " How 
can you expect my stock of patience not to 
be exhausted under the circumstances ? We 
ought to be fifty miles farther on our way 
than we are. For three days have we been 
kept dancing attendance on this petty African 

" The sahib is always in a hurry," com- 
mented Hassan, gravely. " Whether on the 
day's march, or listening to a story from his 
slave, it is ever the same — the end is what he 
seeks. Now, if it had been Allah's will for 
the sahib to be an Arab, he would consider 
the matter differently— for has not the Great 
Prophet declared that to chase time is to 
waste time ; to avoid the rush of life is to 
travel with the wise ? " 

" I daresay he has," responded Denviers ; 
" but if Mahomet had had to deal with this 
Kwembi, he might have changed his opinion 
and been as eager to get out of this part of 
Africa as we are." 

" I certainly agree with you there, Frank," 
I said to Denviers ; " for, of all the tax- 
gatherers we have had to deal with, Kwembi 
is, without doubt, the most exacting. We 
usual forced presents, and, as 
aware, he promptly and modestly 

sent him the 
you are 

times the amount of our 
sooner did he get what he 
asked for than he declared we had some 
secret purpose in view in attempting to pass 
through his territory. You and I and Hassan 
have all tried to get an audience with Kwembi, 
but, so far, we have dismally failed." 

" Kass," Denviers said to the leader of our 
Wadigo followers, who joined us as we stood 
discussing matters under the shade of a 
beautifully-foliaged makoondee tree, " we sent 
you to talk Kwembi's head man over, and to 
promise him a few yards of cloth if he suc- 
ceeded in getting us an interview : what had 
he to say ?" 

" Kwembi refuses to allow an advance ; he 
demands a good rifle— in return he will re- 
ceive the white chiefs in his palace. After 
that ye may return, but not otherwise." 

" So this petty chief, or King, as he styles 
himself, considers us as his prisoners ? " com- 
mented Denviers. "If Kwembi delays us 
much longer we will try to force our way 
through his territory, which he will presently 
discover. As to the rifle, I hope he may 
get it." 

" The sahib is making two great mistakes,'' 
Hassan interposed, gravely. " Kwembi is 
not a petty chief — he has a large number of 
men, well trained to fight with spear and 
shield. If that prove to be correct which 
Hassan, the unworthy latchet of the sahib's 
shoe, has heard, then the gift of a rifle will 
be well bestowed if it bring the sahibs into 
Kwembi's presence." 

" What do you mean 4 Hassan ? " Denviers 
asked, as he saw the Arab was evidently 
impressed with Kwembi's importance, by the 
earnest yianner in which he urged the gift to 
be made. 

" See ! " cried Kass. " Kwembi already 
sends for an answer." As he spoke the 
Wadigo pointed to' a number of natives 
advancing towards us. 

" Give the rifle, sahibs," Hassan added ; 
" to-day Kwembi only demands one ; to- 
morrow he may desire three before letting us 
depart." The Arab stopped suddenly, for 
the natives had reached us and were forcibly 
repeating the chiefs request, saying that he 
would not wait; we must send a definite 
answer at once. 

The native who delivered Kwembi's mes- 
sage wore a scanty loin-cloth of leopard-cat 
skin, his arms being partly covered with 
interlacing strips of the same hide. About 
his neck was a loose chain of copper, 
twisted into curious shapes, while his black 
hair was raised into a head-dress in which 
several strings of beads were interwoven. 
In one hand he carried a heavy spear shod 
with iron, while in the other he held a wand 
of polished black wood, as a token that he 
was the King's messenger to us. His atten- 
dants, who were six in number, wore girdles 
andyf^^^fjfi^elppeskin; about 



— & 


their necks ^rere strings of black and scarlet 
beads ; each wore bracelets and anklets of 
plaited and dyed grass, while to our great 
discomfort they carried native musical instru 
ments, made of reeds, with the noise of 
which we were almost deafened* 

I hurriedly sent Hassan into the hut 
which had been allotted to us, from which he 
returned bringing a rifle with him. Taking 
the weapon in one hand, I pointed with the 
other towards Kwembi's palace to 'indicate 
that the King's terms were accepted. 
Denviers offered little objection, since 
Hassan had excited his curiosity somewhat* 
and this addition to the hongo, or tax, which 
we had already paid t was, after all, as I 
successfully urged, only of small value, 

Headed by the King's wand-bearer and 
musicians, we advanced to the palace, Hassan 
and Kass following as we passed through a 
double line of armed men drawn up to 
receive us. No sooner were we conducted 
into Kwembi's presence than we understood 
the full meaning of Hassan's words, as we 
stared in blank surprise at the scene before 

The main apartment of Kwembi's palace 
was extremely lofty, its sloping, cone-shaped 
roof being thatched with reeds, while the 
sides were made of a material resembling 
rosewood, and upon them was hung a large 
number of weapons, mostly shields and spears, 
taken, so we concluded, from surrounding 
tribes when defeated in war. About the 
palace, and ranged on left and right of a dais 
covered with skins, stood a number of the 
chief's warriors, the military bearing of whom 
won involuntary expressions of admiration 

from us as we hastily glanced at them while we 
stood, considerably as ton! shed, before Kwenibi 
and his native wife. The latter, although 
belonging to an African tribe, as the colour 
of her skin at once betrayed, was strikingly 
handsome in appearance. Clad in garments 
which suited a European rather than a native 
Queen, the richness of her robes and the 
splendid strings of pearls woven in the 
meshes of her luxuriant black hair were only 
equalled by her clear cut features and dark, 
lustrous eyes* Yet the unexpected meeting 
with the Queen was less astonishing to us 
than the appearance of Kwembi, the chief. 
He had the garb of an Arab down to its 
minutest detail— but the spotlessly white 
turban which he wore was not lighter in hue 
than the chief's features, and 5 when he 
addressed a few words of welcome to us, 
which were, however, not o\cr cordial, I 
could not help giving utterance to the 
thought which was uppermost : — 

14 Why !" I cried, "can it be possible that 
you are an Englishman ? " 

Kwenibi answered gravely in the affirma- 
tive and whispered a few words to the Queen 
beside him. She held out her hand and, as 
Denviers bent over it, she said, in tolerably 
good English : — 

" Why are these messengers of ours so 
careless ? They reported the arrival of three 
Arab traders with their dependents ; one of 
you only is an Arab— — " 

"He is our guide," explained Denviers ; 
then, a little disconcerted at the great reserve 
which the so-called Kwenibi adopted towards 
us, he added • " W-e have brought the rifle 

whkh i«™f ^ta ddiiootto 



the strange chief, who critically examined it 
and returned it immediately. 

"Very suitable for a savage, I have no 
doubt," he said, coolly. U I should be very 
sorry to use it myself/ 1 and he proceeded to 
discuss the vari- 
ous defects of 
the rifle with 
such acumen 
that we felt he 
was not to be 
trifled with. 

"Well, 15 com- 
mented Den- 
viers, when some 
stools had been 


placed for us before the dais and made com- 
fortable with some leopard-cat skins spread 
upon them ; '* you have already demanded a 
very heavy hongo, or tax, from us, and we 
thought your request for a rifle hardly fair. 
Now that we have discovered, to our surprise, 
that you are an Englishman, living as chief 
over this African tribe, we will give you a 
splendid ride on condition that you permit 
us to pas.s through your territory— which, no 
doubt, you will readily allow/' 

Kwembi made no reply in the direct 
affirmative to this remark, but seemed to 
force our conversation into the most trivial 
channel that he could. Kass was sent to 
bring back a fine weapon from our small 
stock, and this, Kwembi, when the Wadigo 
returned, accepted with considerable alacrity, 
although he tried to appear indifferent to its 
value. Denviers importuned him to allow us 
to continue our advance ; but, while Kwembi 

was willing enough to permit our return, he 
pointedly refused to accede to my com- 
panion's request 

11 Why are you so much opposed to our 
expedition?" Denvers asked, vexed at the 
chief's obstinacy, 

4 ' What is your real ob- 
ject in wishing to pass 
t h ro ugh my territory?" 
Kwembi inquired, answer- 
ing one question with 

" I have already ex- 
plained," replied Denviers. 
" Before starting on our 
way, we planned the route 
carefully ; naturally 
enough, we wish to keep 
to it." 

"Can you furnish me 
with any proof that 
what you say is true ? " 

" Why you mistrust 
your own countrymen 
so is more than 1 can 
understand," responded 
Denviers ; (t however, let 
this convince you that 
there is no secret object 
that we wish to carry out." 
He drew from his pocket 
a sheet of paper stiffened 
with linen, and, unfolding 
it, held it out to Kwembi* 
" The plan of your 
journey," commented the 
chief, as he scrutinized the 
red wavy line showing our 
route* " I see two peculiar marks upon it/' 
he added, after a pause ; ** what are they 
intended to signify?" 

u They show as near as possible the position 
of two places at winch unexpected adventures 
have befallen us," I interposed. ct That is all." 
" Then you are not in search of the shield, 
to gut which several Aral) traders have fitted 
out expeditions of late, and, concealing their 
true object, have tried to get my permission 
to go through my territory?' 1 

" We know nothing about it," Denviers 
answered, with a glance of surprise at me. 
1( Surely the cause of your objection to our 
advance cannot be because of such a slight 
reason ? " 

11 Wait ! " Kwembi interrupted. " You are 
evidently speaking without knowledge of the 
rumour which has long been current among 
the Arabs, t*iat llfnhrypw more about this 



The chief whispered something to his 
consort, who rose and passed into a side 
apartment of the palace, at the same time 
that, by a wave of his hand, Kwembi dis- 
missed his savage guards. 

11 The Arabs I dare not trust, and to make 
another expedition in search of the shield, 
after what has already happened to me, is 
more than my nerves would 
bear. If you will solemnly pro- 
mise to endeavour to recover it 
for me, I will allow you to go 
on your way, which, strangely 
enough, passes the spot where 
the shield k hidden. More than 
that, I will present you with this 

Kwcmbi drew from his finger 
a remarkable ring, which he held 
out to Denviers, who, after we 
had examined it curiously, 
returned it to the chief. 

i( It is yours," Kwembi 
continued, pressing it upon 
Denviers ; "take it, and 
accept my terms. n 

" We will serve you in 
any way possible," my com- 
panion answered. " Do 
you fully realize the strange 
nature of your gift ? " 

Kwembi answered in 
the affirmative, and when 
Denviers had passed the 
ring to Hassan, to place 
with our other treasures, 
the chief continued : — 

" You wonder how I 
came by it ? Well, I found it in a tomb, and 
it answers exactly to the description of that 
once worn by Menes, the first King of 

Denviers gave an incredulous whistle, then 
said, with a smile : — 

** Of course, yon don't expect us to l>elieve 
your yarn ? Our Arab guide often -" 

" You need not believe it unless you like," 
Kwembi retorted ; then, going towards the 
entrance of the palace, he gave some order. 
A minute afterwards some native women 
entered, bearing a table curiously constructed 
out of reeds. 

When they had departed, Kwembi left us 
alone for a time, then re-entered and placed 
upon the table a discoloured and ragged 
sheet of parchment, which he unrolled as we 
gathered round it, and then we saw that it 
was covered with hieroglyphics. 

"When first 1 found this parchment and 

became aware of what it contained," Kwembi 
continued, " I thought its narrative only the 
invention of some ancient Egyptian priest. 
Like you, I was incredulous ; but listen^ I 
will tell you what transpired in consequence 
of the discovery of this worm-eaten scroll, 
and, queer as the story is, you will have an 
opportunity of verifying it." 



When we had inspected the parchment to 
our satisfaction, Kwembi took it in his hand, 
and sat down upon his throne a^ain. 
Denviers was invited to occupy the seat at 
the King's side, while Hassan and I rested 
upon the stools previously placed before the 
throne, Kass, holding his shield and spear, 
sank down on one knee, Wad i go fashion, 
whereupon Kwembi at once began his 
narrative, referring occasionally to the scroll 
at first ; while, throughout the story, we 
listened attentively, the King's animated utter- 
ances impressing us that he, at all events, 
believed what was upon the parchment, and 
also that the singular termination to his 
adventure had no other solution than the one 
he gave us. 

M Of the events which led to the discovery 
of this parchment I shall only give you a very 
brief account/' Kwembi began; " except to 




mention that, for several years, I and another 
Englishman devoted ourselves to research 
among the tombs of Meydum, in which, as 
you are doubtless aware, were found some 
extremely ancient sculptures. The success 
which followed our first efforts led us to 
visit many of the tombs which are to be 
found in the valley of that mysterious river — 
the Nile. It so happened that one day we 
discovered a sarcophagus and, among the 
treasures buried with the mummy of a woman 
which it contained, we found several strings 
of pearls. Some of these you no doubt 
observed adorning the hair of my consort 
when you first saw her on entering this palace. 
In addition to them we discovered the ring 
you now have, and which is minutely de- 
scribed in the hieroglyphics of this worm- 
eaten parchment, although, owing to the 
great age of the latter, here and there small 
fragments are missing, as well as some parts 
of it being difficult to clearly decipher. 

"The events narrated in the parchment 
aroused our interest considerably, for some 
strange details concerning Menes, the 
Egyptian, are given upon it." 

" There are many mythical stories told of 
this King," Denviers interposed. " Although 
this parchment may refer to Menes, it does 
not follow that the one who traced the 
hieroglyphics upon it witnessed the events 
recorded there. They may have been written 
hundreds of years after the occurrence took 
place, and possibly were put down upon 

" Menes," Kwembi continued, " was visited 
on one occasion by the Queen of a far 
country who was more lovely, if one may 
judge from this scroll, than the famous 
Cleopatra, destined, long after the great 
King passed away, to sit upon his throne. 
A wonderful journey was hers, for here I 
read that she crossed a sea then unknown, 
the primitive fleet of boats which hers 
headed being tossed for many days and 
hights upon the storm-swept waters. At last 
the mouth of the Nile stream was entered, 
and down the mystic river the Queen and her 
retinue passed. The wondrous scenes which 
opened out, as the current swept them on, 
charmed the eyes of the Queen as she 
stretched out her hand at times and plucked 
from the bank the blossoms of the mimosa. 
Yet fairer than anything there the Queen 
herself appeared, as well an attendant prince 
knew who sat at her feet and caught the 
glances of delight from her eyes, turned upon 
all else but him —her subject. 

" A great festival was held to celebrate the 

Queen's visit, while Menes, smitten with love 
for the Queen, begged her to share his throne, 
which eventually she did. Among the many 
gifts bestowed by the Queen upon the 
Egyptian King when first she visited his land 
was a shield, curiously wrought in gold, inset 
in which was a three-headed serpent of 
magnificent brilliants, the eyes and darting 
tongues being of rubies. Beside the King 
one day, as he sat upon the throne, stood a 
slave who held the shield, while, at the feet 
of his bride, her favourite female slave 
rested, or at times let her fingers stray 
over the strings of a sweet-tuned lyre as 
she sang of the land whence Menes' Queen 
had come, and to rule which in her name a 
subject prince was set. 

"Long before this time the chief prince 
who accompanied her had besought the 
Queen to be his — but was refused. No 
sooner did Menes obtain his bride than 
the disappointed suitor began to scheme 
against both King and Queen. With the 
object of stirring up a revolt in the far 
land, he begged to be sent to rule it, but 
Menes advised another to be chosen, and the 
thwarted prince prepared for revenge. He 
entered the audience -room of the palace 
with a weapon concealed upon his person ; 
approaching Menes, he begged to whisper 
some strange news into the King's ear. 
Deceived by his friendly manner, Menes 
stooped down. On high the weapon flashed 
in an instant, but the bearer of the shield 
was too quick and caught upon it the de- 
scending blow. Quick as lightning strikes, 
the prince aimed a blow at the startled 
Queen ! Before her the slave, who had been 
resting at her feet, but who had arisen when 
Menes was threatened with death, flung her 
own body, and as the weapon pierced her 
breast she gave one wild cry and fell dead ! 
Down from the hand of its bearer fell the 
shield, and when he raised it the slave's life- 
stream had died it crimson. 

" • Seize him ! ' cried Menes ; then, as the 
hastily summoned slaves dragged the prince 
away, Menes led his Queen from the apart- 
ment. Next day the fate of the prince was 
announced to him. Never again could the 
eyes of Menes' bride look upon the shield 
stained with the blood of the one who had 
saved her life. The prince was thrust living 
into a sarcophagus, after being led fast bound 
to a remote tomb near the source of the Nile, 
and with him was buried the shield and the 
weapon he had taken life with. The female 
slave was embalmed and buried with the 
King's death gifts of pearls and a ring from 

2 7 2 


his finger, while this parch 
merit was placed in her tomb, 
that if in after ages the 
sarcophagus chanced to be 
opened, the memory of the 
slave's devotion to the Queen, 
even to death, might be re- 

"And you found the tomb 
in which the body of the 
female slave was placed ? ' I 
asked, as Kwembi concluded 
that part of his story. 

"That is the least 
astonishing part of 
what happened/' he 
answered. u So con- 
vinced was my com- 
panion at the time 
that every word upon 
the parchment was 
true, that he per- 
suaded me to join 
him in a search for 
the tomb of the prince 
with whom the shield 
was buried, which, 
from the description 
given of it, you will 
understand was of 
great value. Month 
after month we 

searched and tomb after tomb we found, till 
at last — — " 

Kwembi broke off his story suddenly, and 
glancing into his face, I saw that he had 
turned ghastly pale, while the perspiration 
stood in heads upon his forehead. 

"You found at last ? 7 ' Denviers sugges- 
tively remarked, vaguely wondering at the 
agitation which had seized Kwembi* 

" My story has a strange ending, one that 
you will hardly credit, yet I will endeavour to 
tell you as well as I can what happened/* the 
chief continued, "Yes, we found the tomb 
of the nameless prince at last Like most of 
the ancient burial places, it had an entrance 
chamber. Passing into this we saw the shaft 
at our feet. The two fellahs who acted as 
our servants lowered us in turn by a rope, 
and we found ourselves in a vault, where- 
upon we lit a torch and examined the place 
for the sarcophagus. Judge of our surprise 
when none was discovered ! The event was 
so unusual that we discussed its meaning as 
we glanced into each other s face, lit up by 
the torch which I held. At lost an idea 
occurred to my companion, who tailed up the 
shaft, in response to which an iron pick was 


let down at the end of our rope. Taking 
this implement, which long experience had 
taught him to handle deftly, he struck upon 
the sides of the vault Hard and ringing was 
the sound each blow gave until, just as I 
was about to renew the torch, which was 
burning low, my companion cried : — 

^ t It is here ! The sarcophagus has been 
walled in!' With excited blows he struck 
the wall, which yielded far more readily than 
we expected— but lower burnt the torch, 

u In the surprise which the discovery roused 
in us we thought of nothing else save the one 
fact that the sarcophagus was placed on end, 
as we saw when the facing of stone was torn 

4 * Lower, lower still, burnt the torch. 

"Then the lid of the sarcophagus was 
wrenched away. I caught one glimpse of 
the mummy, saw the shield with the 
gems glittering in it, then, with a cry to 
my companion that the torch was going 
out, I dropped it as it singed my fingers. 
What happened then?" Kwembi asked, 
rising from his seat and covering his 
eves, as if'tjcjq^^yl -TOglj-|-pome scene which 



you ask ? I saw the face of the mummy thrust 
into mine; we fell together, and two sets of 
bony fingers gripped me by the throat ! I 
could not cry out \ for a minute my senses 
reeled with the horror of the thing, then I 
caught my weird 
assailant in turn, 
and we fought to- 
gether upon the 
floor of the vault 
in the blind dark- 
ness, no sound 
from our lips 
escaping as we 
struggled for the 
mastery. At last I 
shook myself free, 
ran headlong to the 
foot of the shaft, 
wound the rope 
about my waist, 
and shouted to the 
fellahs to drag me 
up ! 

t( No sooner did 
the men see my 
scared face and the 
marks of that 
fearful struggle 
which I bore, than 
they basely fled in 
terror; nor did I 
once after see them 
again, Suddenly 
a thought occurred 
to me — my com- 
panion! In secur- 
ing my own safety 
I bad forgotten 
him ! I threw my- 
self flat upon the 
ground and cried 
out to him, as I 
tried to pierce the 
gloom at the 
bottom of the shaft. No answer reached 
me— none) I called out again and again, 
but heard only the echo of my own voice 
ringing in the depths of the vault Sick 
with horror, I ran from the place and 
wandered aimlessly about, but whether fur 
days or weeks I cannot telL 1 next remem- 
ber waking, as if from a dream, to find a 
native woman bending over me, by whom I 
had been found, it appears, in a cave, 
such as there are in plenty in the land 
over which I rule. By chance she had din- 
covered me there, and, so long, had been 
able to save me from the men of her 

Vol. x + -36. 

; men oi 

tribe by keeping my presence unknown to 
them. When my strength was sufficiently 
restored, she urged me to return the way I 
came, but I refused. The dreadful event 
which had happened so completely unhinged 

my mind that I 
had no wish to live, 
In spite of her en- 
treaties, I made 
my way to where 
the huts of her tribe 
were, and was 
promptly seized by 
two braves, who 
dragged me before 
the chief. For 
some time his 
tribe had been at 
war with another, 
and even as I stood 
before Haika in 
this palace a mes- 
senger came in 
saying that the 
chiefs braves were 
being driven in, 

" More with the 
object of flinging 
away my life than 
any other, I pro- 
mised Haika if he 
would spare me I 
would fight for him 
against the invad- 
ing tribe* So often 
had he been 
tricked by Arab 
traders that he re- 
fused, but at last 
gave a reluctant 
consent. All that 
afternoon his van- 
quished braves, 
came hurrying in, 
telling of the num- 
bers slain in the recent battle, ]Jy means of 
the chief's headman — who, from frequent 
intercourse w T ith Arab traders, managed to in- 
terpret my words — I volunteered to head a 
division of the braves if they were intrusted to 
me. Accordingly, when Haika drew up his 
men to defend his palace and the huts of the 
great village, I selected a number of them 
and led them away. The chief presented me 
with a rifle, which proved more serviceable 
than I expected ; while a fortunate downpour 
of rain, which occurred that night, was con- 
sidered a good omen. The natives persuaded 
themselves that the white man was lucky ! 






" About two hours before dawn the enemy 
made the attack, Haika's braves resisting 
stoutly. Having made a wide detour with 
the men I led, we took the foes in the rear — 
before the sun had risen the enemy fled panic- 
stricken, and Haika's braves had won ! Both 
sides suffered severely, as the blent heaps of 
the dying and dead plainly showed. Seeing 
a throng of braves gathered round one of the 
wounded, I pressed through them to find 
Haika lying there, clutching in his stiffening 
fingers his bloody spear. He seemed to 
recognise me ; as I bent over him he feebly 
raised himself a little, motioned to me to 
take his weapon, and then fell back dead. 

" c The chief has chosen the white man in 
his place ! ' the braves cried, and that day, 
on the field of battle, I was made chief of 
this tribe over which I now rule, and from 
which I would not go, for they are faithful to 
me, and I accept the strange fortune which 
is mine. She who found me in the cave has 
become my bride, while, so efficient in war 
are my braves now, that the power of five 
tribes dwelling about my territory has been 
completely broken. The Arab traders have 
several times endeavoured to get my consent 
to pass through this territory, for, somehow, 
the secret of that strange tomb has become 
known to them, although they do not know 
the exact position of the place concerning 
which they have put many unanswered 
questions to me. As to the shield, I dare 
not enter the tomb again in search of it; 
what I think about the nameless prince 
whose fingers wound themselves about my 
throat I can only hint. You look in- 
credulous, but remember that the parchment 
declares he was not slain when thrust into the 

"You surely don't wish to persuade us that 
he has lived in that tomb since the time of 
Menes ? " asked Denviers. " Our Arab guide, 
Hassan, as I have said, can spin a tolerably 

tall yarn at times, but yours r " and he 

laughed irreverently as he rose from the 
chiefs side at the close of the story. 

"In my opinion," Kwembi returned, 
"much of the mysterious lore of Ancient 
Egypt has been lost ; who knows under what 
conditions the prince may have been im- 
mured there? As to whether the struggle 
of which I spealp took place or not, let these 
marks testify." The chief unfastened the 
garment about his neck and showed several 
large lateral scars, then he added : — 

"Now will you agree to my conditions? 
You accepted the ring of Menes ; if you 
will swear to me to recover this shield which 

is mine by right of discovery, I will send a 
body of braves to join your followers. • When 
you get possession of it you can send it 
back to me — on these terms you may con- 
tinue your journey, otherwise you must turn 
back " 

" And if we fail to find the tomb ? " 
Denviers interrupted 

" That will not happen ; I will give you 
an exact description of its position," and 
Kwembi proceeded to do so. 

" We will start at sunrise to - morrow," 
Denviers agreed, when everything was satis- 
factorily settled, and we were then conducted 
to a hut prepared for us, where we sat smok- 
ing and talking together till the night was 
advanced, Hassan and Kass seeing to the 
comfort of our followers. 

When morning came we set out on our 
march, headed by the braves whom Kwembi 
appointed to go with us. At the end of the 
second week after leaving the chief's palace, 
we found ourselves at last within a short 
distance of the tomb. Leaving the en- 
campment we had made, Denviers and I went 
forward, accompanied by Hassan and Kass 
with two of Kwembi's braves, who were to 
carry the shield if it were discovered. 


Often as Denviers had discussed the subject 
with me, neither of us had conjectured 
rightly what the end of our adventure would 
be— so completely did it take us by surprise. 

After making our way along a narrow path 
which wound up the precipitous, gloomy 
cliffs at the foot of which the White Nile 
flowed, we came to a narrow entry and, 
stooping down, we passed within. Hassan 
led the way holding a torch ; following him, 
we found ourselves in a grotto, the roof of 
which rose high above our heads. 

"The entry to the tomb, sahibs," the 
Arab cried, as we stood by his side and 
glanced at the fantastic shapes of the jagged 
projections from walls and roof. Denviers 
lit another torch, and, handing his rifle to 
Kass, motioned to Hassan to go on. The 
Arab cautiously advanced After traversing 
a few yards he stopped. 

" See ! The way lies here," he exclaimed, 
pointing down a gloomy shaft, and without 
delay we descended, Kass remaining behind 
with the two natives, who lowered us in turn 
into the vault of which Kwembi had'spoken. 

We soon discovered that we were in no 
hastily prepared excavation. Pillars of granite 
supported the roof, sculptured with many a 
strange design. The waLis upon which the 




flickering torchlight fell were painted here, 
the half-obliterated face of a sphinx, inscrut- 
able and stolid, looked away from the hands 
of suppliants held appealingly towards it ; 
there, a great procession was limned, the 
central figure being a man, probably the 
prince, led into captivity or to death. At 
times a fallen pillar obstructed our way as on 
we passed, till we had gone fifty paces or 
more and the opposing wall was reached. 
Kxamiriing the latter as carefully as we had 
done the first, we saw no indication of a break 
in it such as we were led to expect. Slowly 
we turned and walked close to the third side, 

" I hope the main object of our expedition 
is not doomed to disappointment/' 
Den v i e rs re rn a r k ed. "St r a nge a s 
this place is, it seems to me xery 

likely " He stopped suddenly, 

for Hassan, who was a few yards 
ahead, was seen to stoop down as 
if examining something upon the 
rocky floor. 

"The sahibs' slave has found 
what they seek," he cried, and 
quickly we hastened to the spot. 
An excavation^ rising to the height 
of seven feet, had been made in the 
wall, the material taken from which 
lay in a confused heap close by, 
Nor was that all we saw. An 
ancient sarcophagus, broken, lay in 
shattered fragments, mingled with 
pieces of decayed wood, once 
forming the inner casing of the 
mummy, flung down when the lid 
was wrenched off by Kwembi's 

Yellow as parchment, yet wonder- 
fully preserved from the ravages of 
time, the mummy was ; if cloths 
had once swathed it, none were 
there then, save the rotting fillet 
about its forehead ; a strange glitter 
came from its face, for the latter had 
been gilded ; its tangled hair was 
thick with dust. I touched the 
hand near me ; it came off with 
part of the arm as my fingers closed 
upon it. Holding it near Denviers 5 
torch* as we glanced curiously at it, 
a spark fell, and in a moment the 
hand and arm burnt away, filling the 
air with an odour of bitumen, and 
leaving a mere pinch of ashes behind. 

"The shield," I whispered to Denviers, 
awed by the strange surroundings of our 
adventure ; but, search as we did, we could 
not find it finally, we determined to 

examine the whole vault systematically, 
Denviers and I beginning from one of its 
oblong sides, Hassan from the other The 
Arab's torch was visible to us for some 
minutes ; then it disappeared, as we heard a 
cry from his lips to Allah and Mahomet. 

We hastily passed across to the fourth side 
of the vault, where we found another excava- 
tion leading upwards, and in front of us we 
saw Hassan hurrying on with his torch held 
above his head. A ray of light soon lit the 
excavation from without ; a minute after 
we had emerged upon the path which led 
to the tomb, but higher than we had pre- 
viously gone. We heard a crash as of some- 



thing striking the rock 
below, then again Has- 
san's excited cries rang 
upon our ears. We 
looked up and saw the 
Arab struggling upon a 
narrow shelve of rock 
with an opponent, whose 
matted hair and beard 
seemed as ragged as 
the vestiges of clothing upon his half- 
naked body. Swaying to and fro upon 
the giddy height, they clung to each other, 
fighting eacliiclitmraltfK^ilfe and the other's 




death. Each laboured to get his foe's back 
to the threatening void : we saw Hassan forced 
into that position, heard a fierce cry from 
his opponent, then, just as the Arab seemed 
to totter on the verge of the precipitous 
cliff, he swung himself round and thrust 
his foe headlong below ! How it was done 
we never rightly understood, but as he fell 
the man caught at a projecting ledge, clung 
to it for one brief second, drew himself up 
with his hands, and with a mad cry ran into 
one of the orifices which honeycombed the 
el iff. Long as we sought for him we could 
not find the man ; whether he was Kwembi's 
companion, and in the blind darkness had 
unknowingly fought with him, mistaking his 
comrade's clasp for that of the crumbling 
mummy, was more than we had an oppor- 
tunity of discovering, although our conjecture 
was such. There was the excavation from 
the tomb into the open air — easily made in 
the soft rock with the implement of which 
Kwernbi had spoken — to support our view, and 
the fact that the mind of one at least 
of the explorers had been shaken ^ ^ 
by that weird, mutual mistake ! 

" Sahibs," cried Hassan, making 
his way towards where we stood, 
forming hasty conjectures as to 
what had happened, "the 
Great Prophet guided Has- 
san's feet to enter the ex- 
cavation, 'there he dis- 
covered one who barred 
his way, holding in his 
grasp the strange shield. 
When their Arab slave 
thrust his torch into the 
foe's face he turned and 
fled. Finding himself pur- 
sued, tlie man ran out upon 
the ledge of rock and flung 
this strange shield far be- 
low, then grappled with the 
dust of the sahibs 1 feet/' 

"Well, Hassan," said 
Den vie rs j as the Arab 
afterwards assisted us to 
secure the shield, which 
had, however, been dinted 
slightly in the fall, "the 
dust of the sahibs* feet, as 
you call yourself, had a 
narrow escape from being 
dashed to pieces." 

" Allah and Mahomet preserved Hassan," 
our Arab gravely responded, as we fastened 
the shield to a spear, and placed the ends of 
the latter upon the shoulders of two of 
Kwembi's men, and bade them carry it to 
where our encampment was, "Surely it is 
his Kismet to be saved that he may serve the 
Englishmen and tell them from time to time 
of the wise sayings of the Great Prophet." 

"We both hope so, at all events, 1 ' Denviers 
replied, with a smile. " Kwernbi shall hear 
of your share in recovering the treasure he 
first discovered ; and when we are resting in 
our tent this evening you shall read us some 
more out of the Koran, or tell us a story. 11 

u For Hassan to hear is for him to obey,** 
said the Arab, with a profound obeisance, 
and we started for our encampment. To 
Kwernbi we dispatched the shield, guarded 
by the natives, next day, while we set out 
once more upon our journey. 


by Google 

Original from 

Calculating Boys. 

i I 

HERE is no doubt that the 
power for mental calculation 
varies to a remarkable degree 
in different individuals, but it 
is not so much in adults as in 
children that the difference in 
the development of this particular faculty is 
so strikingly apparent, and many remarkable 
instances are recorded of children in whom 
it has developed itself in an extraordinary 
manner at a very early age. Among these, 
one of the most remarkable is the case of 
George Parker Bidder, 

This boy was born in 1806, at Morton 
Hampstead, in Devonshire, on the borders of 
Dartmoor, where his father carried on a small 
business as a stone-mason. At the early age of 
four he showed a most extraordinary ability for 
calculation, which with slight assistance from 
an elder brother assumed quite phenomenal 
proportions* His peculiar talents soon 
attracted general attention, and his father 
found it a much more profitable employment 
to carry his son about the country, and 
exhibit him as the " Calculating Phenome- 
non/ 1 than following his trade. In this way 
young Bidder visited many parts of the 
country, astonishing the different people who 
came to see and question him, with the 
wonderful rapidity with 
which he was able to 
answer, without ex- 
ternal aid of any de- 
scription, the most 
difficult questions. 

Of these the follow- 
ing are a few of the 
most extraordinary ex- 
amples: If a flea 
spring 2ft 3m. in every 
hop, how many hops 
mu^t it take to go 
round the world, the 
circumference being 
25,020 miles ; and how 
lung would it be per- 
forming the journey, 
allowing it to take 60 
hups every minute with- 
out intermission ? 
Answer : 58,713,600 
hops, and 1 year 314 
days 13 hours 2omin* 

The following ques- 
tion was solved by him 
in 40 sec. : Suppose the 
ball at the top of St, 

Digitized by VjO( 

J-'i'jtn U J 'mutiny by Mi$S Haytsr. 

Paul's Cathedral to be 6ft in diameter, what 
did the gilding cost at $*4d* per square inch? 
Answer, ^237 10s. id. 

The following in imin* zosec. : Suppose 
a city to be illuminated with 9,999 lamps, 
each lamp to consume 1 pint of oil every 4 
hours in succession, how many gallons would 
they consume in 40 years? Answer, 
109,489,050 gallons. 

Another curious question was : Suppose 
the earth to consist of 971,000,000 of inhabi- 
tants, and suppose they die in 30 years and 
4 months, how many have returned to dust 
since the time of Adam, computing it to be 
5,850 years? Multiply the answer by 99, 

Jt is related that on one occasion the 
proposer of a question was not satisfied with 
Bidder's answer. The boy said the answer 
was correct, and requested the proposer to 
work the sum over again. During the opera- 
tion Bidder said he was certain he was right, 
for he had worked the question in another 
way ; and before the proposer found he was 
wrong, and Bidder right, he had solved the 
question by a third method. 

But Bidder was not always content with 

being questioned only, but would sometimes 

puzzle his interrogators by a question of his 

own, and on one of these occasions he put 

the following : — 

" A man found thin 
teen cats*in his garden. 
He got out his gun, 
tired at them and killed 
seven. How many were 
left?" "Six," was the 
reply. "You are 
wrong," he said, "none 
were left. The rest ran 

Whether or no he 
was the originator of 
this time - honoured 
joke, his biographers 
do not say. 

During one of his 
exhibition tours, fortu- 
nately for the lad his 
performances attracted 
the attention of some 
eminent scholars, who, 
after making inquiries, 
subsequently under- 
took his education, and 
he was placed at a 
first-rate school at Cam- 
berwell, and afterwards 




at Edinburgh, where he carried off the prizes 
given by the magistrates of that town for the 
study of higher mathematics, 

Bidder was afterwards employed for a 
short time on the Ordnance Survey ; hut 
finally he decided to follow the profession of 
an engineer, in which his extraordinary gift 
would have ample scope. It was while 
thus employed that he became associated 
with Robert Stephenson and the Birmingham 
Railway, and in the construction of this he 
took a very active part 

Some years after he entered Parliament, 
and numerous stories are extant of his wonder- 
ful skill in detecting a flaw in some elaborate 
set of calculations, whereby he was often 
enabled to upset an opponent's case. Or, 
at other times, he would establish his own 
ease by arguments based upon mathematical 
data, possibly only at the moment placed 
before him, It is said that on one occasion 
an opposing counsel asked that he might not 
be allowed to remain in 
the committee-room, on 
the ground that " Nature 
had endowed him with 
qualities that did not 
place his opponents on a 
fair footing." 

After taking a leading 
part in many important 
engineering works, he died 
at Dartmouth, September 
20th, 1878. 

Another of these extra- 
ordinary children, between 
whom and Bidder honours 
were almost equally 
divided, was Zerah Col- 
burn, born at Cabot, Ver- 
mont, United States, 
September ist, 1804. Signs 
of his wonderful powers 
appeared at a very tender 
age. The discovery was 
accidentally made by his 
father, who was much sur- 
prised one day to hear him 
repeating the product of 
several numbers, although 
at the time he had re- 
ceived no other instruction 
than such as could lie ob- 
tained at a small country 
school, whose curriculum did not include 
writing or ciphering* He thereupon pro- 
posed a variety of arithmetical questions 
to his son, all of which the child an- 
swered with remarkable facility and correct- 

llMSW Cl*Llil'k 

From a PavUmf 

ness. At the age of eight, the boy was able 
to solve most difficult questions by the 
mere operation of his mind. Many persons 
of the first eminence for their knowledge in 
mathematics made a point of seeing and con- 
versing with him, and they proposed to him a 
great variety of questions to his marvellous 
powers. Among them were the follow- 

-Give the square of 999,999. After hesitat- 
ing a little, he replied 999,998,000,001, and 
observed that he produced this result by 
multiplying the square of 37,037 by the square 
of 27, He was then asked to multiply the 
answer twice by 49 and once by 25, a task 
which he accomplished successfully, though 
the answer consists of seventeen figures. 

Name the cube root of 413,993,348,677. 
To this he gave the correct answer in five 
seconds, How many times would a coach 
wheel, 1 aft. in circumference, turn round in 
256 miles, and how many minutes in 48 
years ? To the first he 
replied in two seconds, 
j 1 2,640; and to the second 
before thequestion could be 
written down, 25,228,800, 
and added that the num- 
ber of seconds in the same 
period was 1,513,728,000. 
What are the factors of 
247,483? To this he re- 
plied 941 and 263, which 
are the only factors. 

Various other questions 
of a similar nature respect- 
ing the roots and powers 
of very high numbers were 
indiscriminately pro posed 
to him, and he always 
succeeded in giving the 
correct answers. He could 
tell the exact product aris- 
ing from the multiplication 
of any number consisting 
of two, three, or four figures, 
by any other number con- 
sisting of a like number of 
figures ; or if any number 
consisting of six or seven 
places of figures were pro- 
posed, he would deter- 
mine, with equal ease and 
expedition, all the factors 
of which it was composed. This singular 
faculty therefore extended not only to the 
raising of powers, but also to the extraction 
of the square and cube roots of the num- 
bers proposeHj ri SiW3^ this without the assist- 


by TV HvXt, 



ance of any visible aid in the form of pencil 
or paper. 

Many persons tried to obtain a knowledge 
of the method by which he was enabled to 
answer with so much facility and correct- 
ness the questions put to him, but without 
success ; for he positively declared that he was 
unable to tell how the answers came into his 
mind. That his process of operation was 
other than the usual mode of proceeding 
was evident, for he was entirely ignorant of 
the common rules of arithmetic at this time, 
and could not, it is stated, perform upon 
paper a simple sum in multiplication or 
division. But in the extraction of roots and 
the mentioning of factors, he gave the answers 
so promptly as not to admit of any lengthy 
operation taking place in his mind, when it 
would require, according to the ordinary 
method of solution, a very difficult and 
laborious calculation, 

After exhibiting his powers in many 
parts of the United States, this child was 
brought to England in May, 1812, and 
exhibited at the " Exhibition Rooms" in 
Spring Gardens. During his stay in this 
country the Earl of Bristol, among others, 
took great interest in the boy's welfare, 
and sent him to Westminster School 
Here he remained till 18 19, when, unfortu- 
nately for the lad, he was removed, owing to 
his father refusing to comply with certain 
arrangements proposed by the EarL 

Colburn afterwards tried the stage as a 
profession, and was for a few months under 
the tuition of Charles Kemble ; but his first 
appearance satisfied both himself and his 
instructor that he was not adapted for a 
theatrical career, and he finally became a 
master in an American University, In 1833 
he published his autobiography, and from this 
it appears that his faculty of 
computation left him about the 
time he reached manhood. He 
died March 2nd, 184.0. 

In 1795 there was born, in 
Bilbao, a Spanish boy named 
Lacy, who also gave early de- 
monstrations of his special 
powers, and at an early age 
was brought over to this country 
and exhibited here, creating no 
small stir by his wonderful per- 
formances in the calculating art 

A very singular instance of 
this curious development of the 
calculating faculty, and differ- 
ing in several respects from 
those hitherto mentioned, is 

M. M. J. H. LACY (AG-E 9), 

From a Puwuinp &y /. 


n 1 -; in --.1. ID 5t 1 o\. 
J-VfHH a. Fainting bv Ji, Kittin&h>ck 

the case of Jedidiah Buxton, who, though 
he can hardly be termed an infant prodigy, 
is of sufficient importance in the same 
capacity to find a place among them. 

This man was born in 170;, at Elmeton, 
in Derbyshire, where his father was school- 
master. But, notwithstanding his father's 
profession, Jedidiah's education was so much 
neglected that he was not even taught to 
write. How he first discovered his extra- 
ordinary faculty for numbers he could 
never tell, and, unlike his fellow - calcu- 
lators, he does not seem to have shown 
any startling development very early in life; 
for it was not till he had arrived at man's 
estate that his powers assumed anything like 
phenomenal proportions. But once started 
in this direction, his mind seems to have 
been engrossed with the subject, 
to the exclusion of all others, 
so that he frequently took no 
c ogn izance of external o b j ect s , 
except with regard to their 

It seems to have been invari- 
ably his custom, if any space of 
time were mentioned in his 
presence, to repeat the time in 
minutes and seconds; if any 
distance, the number of hair's 
breadths, By this means he 
greatly increased his power of 
memory with regard to figures, 
and stored up in his mind many 
products for use as they might 
,r W n sJl£l m upon, So remarlt- 




able was his memory that, while solving 
a question, he could desist and resume 
the operation again where he had left off, 
even if it were a month after. His method 
of working was entirely his own, and he was 
not so much remarkable for his rapidity as 
for his invariable correctness. 

He was once asked as a test of his powers : 
In a body whose three sides are 23,145,789 
yards, 5,641,732 yards, and 54,965 yards, how 
many cubical eighths of an inch ? — and after 
some time, although still continuing his work 
among a number of fellow -labourers, he 
signified that he was ready with the answer. 
Meantime his interrogator calculated it upon 
paper, and upon his taking out his pocket- 
book to take down the answer, Jedidiah 
asked which end he would begin with, for he 
was ready either way, His questioner chose 
the regular order, and, to his great surprise, 
found that in a line of twenty-eight figures he 
made no hesitation or the least mistake. 

Two very remarkable things about 
this man were that he would suffer 
two people to propose different ques- 
tions, one immediately after the 
other, and give each their respective 
answers, without the least confusion. 
He would also talk freely while 
working out his questions, as if it 
were no molestation or hindrance to 

One of the most stirring events 
in his otherwise quiet and obscure 
life was a visit to London in 1754, 
when he was introduced to the 
members of the Royal Society, who 
asked him a number of questions, 
to prove his abilities, all of which 
he answered to their entire satisfac- 
tion and surprise. Beyond this he 
never left his birthplace, where he 
died in 1772. 

Another boy, a German, named 
Christian Kriedrich Heineeken, who 
was known as the " Infant of 
Lubeck," from the place where he 
was born in 1721, besides his re- 
markable faculty for numbers, is 
said to have known, at the age of 
one, all the principal events related 
in the Pentateuch, at two was well ac- 
quainted with the chief historical events 
of the Bible, and at three had a know- 
ledge of universal history and geography, 
l^atin and French, People came from 
all parts to see him, and the King of 
Denmark had him brought to Copenhagen 

in 1724, in order to assure himself of 
the truth of what he had heard regard- 
ing him. But shortly after this, little 
Heineeken was taken ill, when he predicted 
his own death, which took place in 1725, 
at the tender age of four. 

Many other examples of these " freaks of 
Nature n are known, and among them may he 
mentioned one of a negro of Maryland, who, 
with no education whatever, possessed a 
wonderful power for numbers, and solved 
many difficult questions put to him. An 
account of hjs career appeared in the 
"Annual Register," 1788. 

Being endowed by Nature with such extra- 
ordinary abilities, one naturally looks for 
some great mathematical work, or some 
startling discovery with regard to numbers, 
from these youths in after life, but in vain, 
fur not one of them, with the exception of 
George Bidder, ever seems to have attained 
to anything of importance, or to have struck 

by L^OOgle 

From a Painting fc> J. Harper. 

out any particular line for himself out of the 
ordinary beaten track; but rather, as time 
went on, they appear to have lost most of 
their marvellous power, or to have died 
before reaching an age when its practical 
application might have been made to serve 
some useful purpose. 

Original from 


M.P!s as Artists. 

By William G, FitzGerald. 

HE House of Commons is a 
congregation of experts and 
specialists ; there is hardly a 
single branch of industry, 
bdence, and art that is not 
represented in the 'mother 
of Parliaments/ " This is among the obiter 
dkia of Sir Richard Temple, and is amply 
demonstrated in this article — at least, in one 

It is right and proper that Sir Richard 
himself should have the place of honour in 
this interesting " gallery " of artistic members 
of Parliament. Perhaps, by the way, I ought 
in some cases to say ex-members ; but the 
distinguished gentlemen 
who have so courteously 
placed themselves and 
their work at my disposal 
are for the most part such 
old Parliamentary hands 
that — if only for the latter 
reason — it would be, in- 
deed, invidious to exclude 
them as not coming 
strictly within the scope 
of this article. 

Considerations of space 
compel me to suppress 
the awe-inspiring list of 
Sir Richard Temple's 
decorations and the 
details of his splendid 
Indian career; let it 
suffice to say that the 
genial baronet has governed altogether 
something like fifteen millions of Her 
Majesty's subjects, My task at Heath Brow, 
Sir Richard's beautiful home at Hamp- 
stead, was by no means a light one. There 
were about three hundred water-colour draw- 
ings to be inspected, executed by the inde- 
fatigable statesman in Central and Northern 
India ; part of Western India \ the Eastern 
and Western Himalayas; Tibet; the Khyber 
Pass region \ the country near Afghanistan ; 
the upper course of the Brahmapootra ; 
Tenasserim and Siam ; and all through 
Nepaul, east of the Himalayas. 

In addition to this formidable collection, 
there were 120 oil studies, prepared during 

Vol. x.— 38, 

51ft HKHAKD 

From a Pfoftj. 

Sir Richard's travels in Egypt, Turkey, and 
the shores of the Mediterranean ; Central 
Russia, the northernmost parts of Norway, 
the Canadian and American Rockies, the 
Yosemite Valley, and the Yellowstone 
National Park* In the latter wonderful 
region Sir Richard worked at an altitude of 

Speaking of his artistic work in India, Sir 
Richard said : ** It gave me a knowledge of 
the country and peoples I had to govern ; and 
thus directly helped towards my administra- 
tive success," And, in truth, he displayed 
amazing energy in getting about the country, 
riding forty or fifty miles before breakfast 
(sketching in the saddle), 
and using as mounts, 
besides horses, elephants, 
camels, and hill-ponies. 

When even the latter 
hardy animals had to be 
discarded, owing to the 
wildness of the district, 
Sir Richard pursued his 
way on foot, and when he 
could no longer walk, he 
climbed. The first of Sir 
Richard Temple's beauti- 
ful water-colours repro- 
duced here is a view of a 
Mogul palace on the 
border of Sr in agar Lake, 
in Kashmir. I should 
say at once that these 
reproductions convey but 
a poor idea of the ineffable — almost unearthly 
— beauty of the scenes, glowing with colour 
and actually realizing the descriptions of the 
4S Arabian NightSi" This palace is in the Royal 
gardens called Shalimar, and is the very centre 
of the closing scene of the story of Moore's 
£ * 1 .al la Rookh. " Accord 1 ng t o t he i m agina tio n 
of the poet, the Feast of Roses was held in this 
very palace. 

Sir Richard's descriptions were wholly 
admirable. He would pore over each pic- 
ture in turn, going into the whys and where 
fores in a delightfully explicit manner. 
Taking up the first, he gave a little architec- 
tural disquisition in his own inimitable 


TtiMi'Lti, BA& 

by SUUtt # Fr§, 



"The great pillared veranda, with the 
huge pediments and massive stone walls, is 
entirely of black marble, called Sung-i-Moosa 
(Stone of Moses). Now, as regards the land- 
scape. The waterfalls and the lake are 
wholly artificial, being formed by dams from 
the mountain streams. In the background 

the Sacred Pig, known to his devotees by the 
more imposing appellation of Shiwla, the god 
of destruction, In this particular instance 
he is really a primeval rock. They scooped 
out the rock over the ground to form his legs ; 
and, of course, the legs have their roots 
deep in the bowels of the earth. Having got 


Ih* 1Toter-raJcn*r Drwrina by Sir Kithard Ttmpk^ Bart. 

are seen the snow-capped mountains belong- 
ing to the Himalayan Range at the back, or 
north, of Kashmir, The trees are the famous 
planes of Kashmir, spoken of in 'Lalla Rookh 7 
as *Chenars.' The flowering shrubs are 
lilacs ; and the plants in the foreground 
are irises beginning to bloom. On the 
veranda are seen the Mohammedan attend- 
ants and Court servitors." 

This picture was painted by Sir Richard in 
1871* Having a month's holiday, he took 
Lady Temple to this gorgeously-lovely spot, 
knowing it to be one of the places in all India 
best worth seeing. The distinguished couple 
were taken across the lake in Royal barges, 

11 Ancient Buddhist remains at Erun, in 
the Saugor district ; British territory ; centre 
of India." It was in this wise that Sir 
Richard heralded the description of the 
second extraordinary picture reproduced here. 
Now, no one has ever accused the estimable 
baronet of frivolity ; nevertheless, he related 
the story of this picture with such com- 
placent glee that I feel constrained to give it 
in his own words ; " The principal item is 


thus far, they carved away the right-hand side 
of the rock so as to form his head, and then 
smoothed off his back, leaving a little upright 
space near the head for the ear. A little place 
was also left for the tusk, on which was 
carved the figure of a goddess, hanging on 
by her hand." 

The approximate size of this monumental 
animal may be judged from the figures seated 
on a stone near him. These are Sir Richard's 
camp attendants ; and the distinguished artist 
assures me that this time, at least, he depicted 
quite correctly the attitude of the natives* 
who were sketched while gossiping among 
themselves, never dreaming what their master 
was about (i Ordinarily," remarked Sir 
Richard, "these fellows would pose stiffly — 
ludicrously, in fact ; but on this occasion 
they wire unconscious and ttigage" And 
he laughed contagiously. Presently, he con- 
tinued, gravely : " Behind the Pig are the 
remains of a Buddhist temple, along the 
side of which, and forming the background 
to the Pig, is a banyan tree* To the right of 
the Pig stands'!* pillar, with a finely-carved 


m.f:s as artists. 



finial, on the top of which is seated Buddha, 
with a stone halo and sun rays around his 
head, Still farther to the right is another 
pillar, without a finial. The foreground is 
strewn with slabs and other remains, pro- 
bably representing fallen temples." 

This sketch was made one morning, 
during Sir Richard's annual riding tour 
through the country as Chief Commissioner 
of the Central 
Provinces, His 
horses and camp 
were somewhere 
in the vicinity ; 
and as far as he 
remembers, he 
rode over in the 
forenoon and 
sketched as long 
as he could bear 
the sun. At 
about mid-day a 
horse was brought 
for him, and he 
returned to the 
camp. His 
mounted escort 
carried the port- 
folio, while his 
paint-box reposed 
in his own capa- 
cious pocket. 

The third picture reproduced shows the 
rock-cut Temple of Kylas (Sanskrit for " Para- 
dise ") at Ellora. Certainly, this is one of the 
little known wonders of the world. The 
temple is simply cut out from the solid flank 
of a mountain belonging to the Sautpura 

When this wonderful temple was quite 
finished, the architects turned their attention 


From fit irafer-eotour 



to the surrounding surface of rock, out of 
which wore duly excavated three rows of 
chambers, for the priests, monks, and at- 
tendants. It will be noticed that from the 
temple to one side of the surrounding rock 
the excavators left a passage, or causeway. 
Again, by the side of the temple they left a 
plain black obelisk, standing out in marked 
contrast to the brilliantly coloured temple. 
Near the obelisk they also left a stone 
elephant, exactly life-size, and from this the 
general scale may be gauged. 

The environment of black rock forms a 
splendid background to this gorgeous temple; 
and at the time when Sir Richard's sketch 
was made — that is, during the rainy season— 


/V.-W4 the irtittr-rtft'jur Dmving bv Sir Richard 


the oozing and running of water all over the 
rocks gave them a glossy jet colour. This 
sketch" was made in 1862, when Sir Richard 
was dispatched by Lord Canning (then 
Viceroy of India) on a diplomatic mission to 
His Highness the Nizam of Hyderabad, 
Sir Richard naturally took advantage of the 
opportunity thus afforded him to see most 
of the magnificent things in the Nizam's 
dominions. The rock-cut temple was some 
hundreds of miles from the palace of this 
potentate, but Sir Richard was conveyed by 
mai heart to the nearest bungalow, and he 
then rode over on horseback. 

The next picture that figures here is 
the gateway of a Buddhist monastery in 
Pamionchi, Sikkim, east of the Himalayas, 

" This," declares my accomplished infor- 
mant, i( is the finest and most ornate of the 
modern Buddhist monasteries. The exterior 
of the building is quite wonderful, the roof 
being formed of massive bamboo poles, 
arranged mush room -wise, and supported by 
poles 70ft or Soft, high. This roof has, of 
course, to sustain the immense weight of 
snow in winter/' 

The massive wooden pillars seen in the 
illustration are painted reddish-brown, but 
blue predominates throughout, for, owing to 
the proximity of Tibet, the land of the 
turquoise, the natives have many facilities 
for manufacturing blues of a beauty not 
attainable in other lands. The painting on 

the wall is done 
by the fresco 
process, and the 
figures represent 
gods- and the 
various powers of 
darkness. One of 
them, adorned 
with a blue skin, 
has endless flames 
lambent around 
his head, and 
carries lightning 
in his hand. Also, 
he is standing on 
a pig, which, I 
gather, is another 
and less concrete 
edition of the one 
pre vi u sly referred 
to. The god of 
sacred music is 
also shown, 
fingering a guitar 
of unknown 
make. Above 
these interesting personages is squatted a 
little Buddha, in all the serenity and calm- 
ness of abstract wisdom. 

Immediately beyond the carpeted floor, 
which is on the brow of an ascent, is the 
really sublime Himalayan background. 
Straight up in the centre shoots a peak far 
higher than the summit of Mont Blanc, I 
asked Sir Richard about the figure squatted 
on the edge of the platform. This, it 
seems, is a priest, counting his beads and 
saying his prayers. Sir Richard remembered 
the man quite well, and actually posed him 
for this picture — which, by the way, was 
painted in 1875, when Sir Richard was 
touring in Sikkim. I should explain that 
Sikkim then formed part of the territory 


Ttmptt+ Bart 

m.p:s as artists. 


under his control as Lieutenant-Govenor of 

The sketch was made in the summer 
season, these mountains being wholly in- 
accessible in tempestuous weather. Sir 
Richard and his staff made the ascent 
laboriously, spending a day and night with 
the monks, who have no prejudices about 
food, and entertained their guests right 
royally, the menu comprising, infer alia, 
"the best minced mutton with rice that I 
have ever tasted." 

The last of Sir Richard Temple's pictures 

teak, light grey in colour from age. The 
sides are made of extraordinarily long bricks, 
enamelled pink ; and the shields, embla- 
zoning, and windows are of brass, The 
griffins standing on pedestals near the 
basement are of grey stone from the neigh- 
bouring mountains, Beyond are seen 
stupendous mountains — "a good 25,000ft 
above the level of the sea," The figures in 
the foreground are the natives who visit the 
place to attend service at the temple ; and 
they greatly add to the brightness of the 
scene. The soldiers standing about form 

From the Waters (.'lour by An" Riehant Temple Btift. 

reproduced here is one that hangs in the 
dining-room at Heath Brow, It shows the 
Neopolis Temple at Patun, near the capital, 
Katmandoo, in the Nepaul Valley. Sir 
Richard believes he is almost the only 
European that has ever visited this weird and 
extraordinary district. 

The style is unique among Hindu temples, 
simply because it is not Hindu at all, being 
borrowed from the Chinese, The central 
tower is built in compartments, and the finial 
is copper-gilt ; the first compartment is also 
of copper-gilt, which takes bluish hues from 
verdegris under atmospheric influence. The 
roofs of the next three compartments are 
tiled, and the supports of the roof are of 

E&rt of the guard kept by the Government 
for the sacred place. 

The sketch for this elaborate and glowing 
picture was made in 1875, when Sir Richard 
was Governor of Bengal, Nepaul was not 
under his jurisdiction, but, by the courtesy 
of the Nepaulese Sovereigns, he was taken 
for many unique excursions. Sir Richard 
was then staying with the British Resident at 
Katmandoo, and was driven over in the 
King's carriages, with his staff, to see the 
place shown in the picture. The versatile 
baronet found this subject so difficult that he 
thought it necessary to have the perspective 
tested by one of the engineer officers of his 

University of Michigan 



and I was unopposed ; therefore my con- 
stituents were pining for a common enemy, 
a fight on these occasions bein£ abso- 

From a Photo* by ChunftlUtr, Dublin. 

Now, my next appointment, on leaving 
Heath Brow, was with gallant, rollicking 
Colonel Saunderson, in Deanery Street, Park 
Lane, My cabman turned out of South 
Audley Street into this curious little thorough- 
fare with such a tremendous flourish (I was 
rather in a hurry), that an austere 'bus driver 
sarcastically inquired whether he " wanted to 
be broke up/' He did not ; and he said so 
in unmistakable language. 

One may judge even from a photograph 
of Colonel Saunderson that he is every inch 
a fighter. As a raconteur I feel sure he is 
unrivalled in society, and abundant evidence 
of his artistic ability is here forthcoming. 

Colonel Saunderson's electioneering ex- 
periences would make interesting and amusing 
readings but their place, unfortunately, is not 
here. Those who know anything of politics, 
however, will infer a great deal from 
the fact that the gallant Colonel's 
political campaigns have almost in- 
variably been conducted in the wildest 
parts of Ireland, where the constituents 
to be wooed are of the interesting 
type depicted here— a type supposed 
by intelligent people to exist only in 
the imagination of the bigoted carica- 
turist. I hinted that the portrait was 
possibly a little extravagant — even 
impossible, " Not a bit," was the 
cheery, vigorous rejoinder; (i fellows 
like that are to be seen in our part in 
millions/ 1 

"This sketch is from life/' the 
Colonel went on, "and I remember 
the man and the incident perfectly 
welL It was in North Armagh, 

lutely essential. As no enemy, common 
or otherwise, could be found, they philo* 
sophically turned upon each other, rent each 
other^ and broke each other's heads with 

Frvm a Sketch hv Cokmtl SanntUrton. 

orthodox blackthorns and considerable 
enthusiasm, When the riot had subsided 
somewhat, I made a speech from the window 
of the court-house, and was frequently inter- 
rupted by the individual whose pen-and-ink 
portrait I have just given you. At last he 
could stand it no longer. * Shet up, Sand- 
therson, yeVe a bore/ he called out, with 
intense disgust. ' Me impoolses was wid 
ye,' he went on earnestly, ^till ye made yer 

Ffvm a Ski 





From the l J »inHna bv Colonel Sa ttwUrnn, 

fao-ptw. 1 " The "false step" referred to by 
this extraordinary Irishman is a political 
matter to which further reference is un- 
necessary. " So far as I remember the man," 
said Colonel Sa under son to me, u he was a 
unique and wonderful mass of rags," 

The next drawing of the Colonel's was 
done specially for this article^ and as it was 
finished while I waited, it may be described 
as a " lightning caricature "of Mr, Gladstone, 
duly signed by the artist He worked at it 
diligently in his study while I examined his 
bicycle and the two oil-paintings that are also 

reproduced. lt I want to give the Old Man 
the fierce expression I have so often seen 
him wear/ 5 remarked the Colonel, anxiously, 
as, putting aside his cigar, he plied with still 
greater diligence his pen and hts finger alter- 

The two framed oil-paintings by Colonel 
Saunderson that are next reproduced are sea- 
pieces. The Colonel is fond of the sea, and 
is, moreover, a practical yacht and ship 

The subject of the first picture is u Brandon 
Mountain and Smerwick Harbour " ; it was 


ivriL IN' 

BAV AND KINGSTOWM. Q r JQJ na | f ^ py, 

\tffl9!feltY OF MICHIGAN 



painted in 1868. On the coast to the left in 

the picture a large part of the Spanish 

Armada put in for shelter* in the hope of being 

well received by a Catholic people. "The 

interesting natives," remarked the Colonel, 

grimly, "promptly butchered diem to a man." 

Colonel Saunderson prepared this picture 

from pencil and water-colour sketches done 

on the spot, and he then dashed off the 

whole thing in about three days. He pointed 

out to me that the waves in the foreground 

are somewhat smudgy- "This," he said, 

" happened in the following way : When the 

painting was finished, 

I put it on a chair to 

dry; and presently in 

came our old Scotch 

nurse with one of the 

babies in her arms. 

Not noticing that the 

picture was on the 

chair, she promptly sat 

on both, whereupon I 

sprang at her and 

dragged her roughly 

away, crying, 'You 

wretched woman ; just 

look at what you've 

done ! ' The poor old 

girl thought I was out 

of my mind." 

The Colonel went on to say that he made 
many sketches in this part of Kerry ; and 
that the natives are fine people, " very 
pleasant, indeed, so long as you refrain from 
asking for rent. This 
they look upon as an 
impertinence which they 
feel justified in actively 

The second oil-painting 
of Colonel Saunderson's 
depicts Dublin Bay and 
Kingstown. On the ex- 
treme left lies Dalkey 
Island, and the guard- 
ship is also shown. A 
pilot cutter, known by 
her flag, is gliding swiftly 
over the shallow sea ; and 
it may be mentioned that 
in this part of the ocean 
there are very violent 
breakers far out from the 
shore. In the foreground 
is seen a collier brig run- 
ning in before the wind, 
" She came into Dublin 
Bay with her sails blown 

away/' remarked the Colonel; "but if I 

"a fellow Of Att, souls'. " 
From a Skiieh kg Mr. Currnn, 

remember rightly, she managed to escape. 

" Do you know," said Colonel Saunderson, 
as I rose to go, "1 really believe that if I had 
worked hard 1 might in time have become 
a fifth-rate marine painter : but I didn't The 
many daubs I have perpetrated in bygone 
years help, at any rate, to cover the naked- 
ness of my Irish home." The gallant 
Colonel is over-modest Even from the 
point of view of a professional artist, his oil- 
paintings reach a high standard of excellence. 
The excessive modesty of distinguished 
M.P/s was the greatest 
difficulty I had to con- 
tend with in preparing 
this article. The Hon, 
E.Blake "drew nothing 
— not even a long 
bow " ; and Mr. A. H, 
Smith-Barry — to whom 
I looked for some 
piquant Irish sketches 
— "had never acquired 
the facility of drawing 
more than two straight 
lines, and those only 
across cheques." The 
Hon. George N. 
Curzon, our dis- 
tinguished Under- 
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, was 
afraid that his " sketches and caricatures — 
such as they are — are hardly of a character 
that invites or merits reproduction." Ulti- 
mately, however, Mr, 
Curzon yielded, and lent 
the light of his counten- 
ance — in a dual sense- 
to my "gallery." 

I called by appoint- 
ment at Mr. Curzon's 
house — a vast and truly 
palatial mansion in Carlton 
House Terrace, and was 
presently ushered across 
the immense marble- 
paved hall, into the pre- 
sence of the brilliant 
young statesman. 

Mr. Curzon at once 
produced an old album 
wherein cuttings of all 
kinds were pasted— from 
poems, articles, and poli- 
tical speeches, to menus 
of famous banquets, and 
miscellaneous sketches by 
""'"Z^nr*"" l>™*lf- One of these 




latter is reproduced here. The subject, Mr. 
Curzon tells me, is the Hon. and Rev. H, 
VV. Bertie, Fellow of All Souls' College, 
Oxford. The sketch is dated 1SS5 ; it was 
drawn during one of the meetings that were 
held for the purpose of discussing the 
business of the College, of which Mr, 
Cur/on was also a Fellow. Mi\ Bertie died 
last year at the age of eighty-five. " He 
was at Eton with Mr. Gladstone, you know/' 
remarked Mr. Curzon ; "and he was for ever 
reeling out anecdotes about that great states- 
man, whose political principles, however, 
were to him anathema." Here Mr. Curzon 
took a pen from his desk, and added a few 
finishing touches to the portrait, protesting 
the while that it was wholly unworthy of 
reproduction in The Strand Magazine. 

The second sketch by our Foreign Under- 
Secretary is marked in the album, M G, 
Nugent Ba likes, author of 'A Day of My Life 
at Eton,' etc. — 1879/ 5 This caricature was 
drawn on a sheet of writing-paper during 
school hours at Eton, the subject being at 
that time in the fifth form with Mr. Curzon. 
41 1 think it a capi- 
tal portrait," re- 
marked Mr. Curzon; 
"the expression's 
quite excellent I 
remember him as 
a fat little chap, 
whose feet didn't 
quite touch the 
floor as he sat in 
the form. It is a 
remarkable fact, 
though, having re- 
gard to the general 
appearance of Mr, 
Nugent Ba nkes in 
this sketch, that he 
was possessed of 
an inexhaustible 
fund of humour, 
and was, moreover, 
extremely clever. 
His book, called 
* A Day of My Life 
at Eton,' had quite 

a remarkable sale, and was written while the 
author was yet a schoolboy at Eton," 

As everyone knows, Mr. Curzon is one of the 
'greatest living authorities on the East. After 
a conspicuously brilliant University career* 
he travelled in the remotest parts of the 
world for many years, one result of which 
was that he produced a monumental book 
on Persia, followed up with works on Central 

Asia } and on China, Japan, and the Korea. 
Naturally, therefore, I was extremely gbd 
when Mr. Curzon hastily crossed his spacious 
study, and presently returned with the unique 
and valuable sketch reproduced here. In 
order that there should be no mistake about 
it, the eminent traveller placed the double 
sheet of cartridge paper on his desk, and 
wrote in pencil at the side \ " The True 
Source cf the River Oxus, in the Hindu 
Kush, on the spot by G. N* C, Sept. 
27th, 1894." Mr. Curzon assures me th:st 
the sketch has never before been published ; 
and further, that no European has ever before 
penetrated to this remote spot. Immense 
mountains are seen in the background of the 
sketch \ then comes the glacier itself, crinkled 
with huge bumps of ice ; next come the 
moraine and debris, and then the sheer edge 
of the precipice, about 70ft. high. It will be 
seen that beneath the glacier are two caverns; 
the openings of these are about 6ft. high. 
Mr. Curzon tells me that, standing out a 
little way from the caverns, he could look 
right into the interior, where great masses of 

From ihc Original sketch by Hr. Vvrjim, 

ice were being crushed together by the 
issuing waters, 

A tiny stream flows from each cavern, and 
both unite a few yards from their source. Mr, 
Curzon was sure that if he crept into either of 
the caverns, the water would not reach higher 
than his hips, We have not reproduced here 
a photograph of Mr + Curzon*, as a complete 
set of his uorttaits will be found on page 306. 


Stories from the Diary of a Doctor, 


Bv L. T. Meade and Clifford Halifax, M.L). 

[This story is- based en the results of a series of in vest] Rations made in France with the modified virus of malignant disease. 
There !n every reason to believe, from the exovrience gained, that in this direction lies the future cuie of maladies of this 

T has for some time seemed to 
me that in the treatment of 
many diseases the immediate 
future holds a great secret in 
its hands. This secret is be- 
coming more, day by day, an 
open one, I allude to the marvellous success 
which has already attended the treatment of 
disease by the elaboration and discovery of 
new forms of inoculation of serotheropic 
virus. The following story may serve as a 
proof of this theory of mine. One evening 
at my club I came across an old college chum ; 
his name was Walter Lumsden. He had 
also entered the medical profession, and had 
a large country practice in Derbyshire, We 
were mutually glad to see 
each other, and after a few 
ordinary remarks Lumsden 
said, abruptly : — 

* 4 1 was in a fume at missing 
my train this evening ; but, 
now that I have met you, I 
cease to regret the circum- 
stance. The fact is, I believe 
your advice will he valuable 
to me in connection with a 
case in which I am much 
interested 71 

" Come home with me, 
Lumsden/' I replied to this ; 
"I can easily put you up for 
the ni^ht, and we can talk 
over medical matters better 
by my fireside than here/' 

Lumsden stood still for a 
moment to think. He then 
decided to accept my offer, 
and half an hour later we had 
drawn up our chairs in front 
of the cheerful fire in my 
study, and were enjoying our 
p. pes after some port. The 
night was a chilly one, in 
the latter end of November. 
The whvj was roaring lustily outside. It is 
under such circumstances that the com- 
forts of one's own home are fully appre- 

44 You have done a good thing with your 
life," said Lumsden, abruptly^ )( r )liO<|>(tfcn 

wish I had not married, and had settled in 
London— oh, yes, I have a large practice j 
but the whole thing is somewhat of a grind, 
and then one never comes across the fore- 
most men of one's calling— in short, one 
always feels a little out of it. I used to be 
keen for recent discoveries, and all that sort 
of thing in my youth, now I have got some- 
what into a jog-trot— the same old medicines 
— the same old treatments arc resorted to, 
year in, year out ; but, there, I have not come 
to talk of myself." 

11 You want to give me particulars with 
regard to a case ? " I said. 

" Yes, an anxious case, too — it puzzles me 
not a little." 


" Have another pipe before you begin/ 1 
I said. 

" No, thanks ; I don't want to smoke any 
more. Now, then, this is the story.' 3 

Lumsden,-vhad been leaning back in his 
chair taking thint^s easy- h£ now bent for- 

• * 



ward, fixed me with two anxious eyes, and 
began to speak forcibly, 

" The case, to put it briefly, is as follows," 
he said, " One of my best patients and 
staunehest friends in the parish of Wolverton 
is Sir Robert Gascoigne. He is a rich man ; 
his people made their money in iron during 
the latter end of the last century, His 
great-grandfather bought a fine estate, which 
goes by the name of 'The Priory.' lip- 
oid man strictly entailed the property, 
leaving it in every case to the eldest son 
of the house, and failing direct succession 
to a distant branch of the family. The 
present baronet — Sir Robert (the title was 
accorded a couple of generations ago) — is 
between fifty and sixty years of age. His 
wife is dead. There is only one son — a 
captain in an infantry regiment. Captain 
Gascoigne is now thirty years of age, as fine- 
looking a fellow as you ever met. For many 
years the great wish of Sir Robert's heart 
has been to see his son married, Captain 
Gascoigne came home two years ago on sick 
leave from India; he recovered his health 
pretty quickly in his native land, and pro- 
posed to a young lady of the name of 
Lynwood — a girl of particularly good family 
in the neighbourhood. Miss Helen Lyn- 
wood is a very handsome girl, and in 
every way worthy to he Captain Gascoigne's 
wife. His father 
and hers were 
equally pleased with 
the engagement, 
and the young 
couple were devoted 
to each other. Cap- 
tain Gascoigne had 
to return to India 
to join his regiment, 
which was expected 
to be ordered home 
this year. It was 
arranged that he 
should leave the 
Army on his return 
— that the wedding 
was to take place 
immediately, and 
the young people 
were to live at * The 
Priory,' All pre- 
parations for the 
wedding were made, 
and exactly a fort- 
night after the cap- 
tain's return the 
marriage was to be 

solemnized. All the reception-rooms at 
'The Priory* were newly furnished, and 
general rejoicing was the order of the hour 
Let me see : what day is this ?" 

14 The twenty-fourth of November/ 1 I 
answered, ^ Why do you pause ? " 

v * I thought as much," said Dn Lumsden — 
" this was to have been the wedding day." 

" Pray go on with your story," I said* 

s * It is nearly told. Gascoigne appeared on 
the scene looking well, but anxious. He had 
an interview with his father that night, and 
the next day went to London. He stayed 
away for a single night 3 came back the next 
day, and went straight to see Miss Lynwood, 
who lives with her father and mother at a 
place called Burn borough. Nobody knows 
what passed between the young couple, 
but the morning after a hurried message 
arrived for me to go up at once to see Sir 
Robert. I found the old baronet in a 
state of frightful agitation and excitement 
He told me that the marriage was broken off 
--that his son absolutely refused to marry 
either Miss Lynwood or anyone else — that 
he would give no reasons for this determina- 
tion beyond the fact that he did not consider 
his life a healthy one, and that no earthly 
consideration would induce him to become 
the father of children. The whole thing is a 
frightful blow to the old man, and the 


Original from 



mystery of it is, that nothing will induce 
Captain Gascoigne even to hint at what is 
the matter with him. There is no hereditary 
disease in the family, and he docs not look 
out of health. By Sir Robert's desire, I 
ventured to sound him on the subject It 
seemed impossible to associate illness with 
him in any way* I begged of him to confide 
in me, but he refused. All I could get him 
to siy was : — 

"*An inexorable fate hangs over me 
—by no possible means can I avert it. All 
I have to do is to meet it as a man.' 

" 4 Do you mean that your life is doomed? 1 
I asked of him. 


fl * Sooner or later it is/ he replied ; i but 
that is not the immediate or vital question, 
Nothing will induce me to hand on what I 
suffer to posterity. My father and Miss 
Ly 11 wood both know my resolve,' 

" t But not your reason for it,' I answered, 

" i I prefer not to tell them that/ here- 
plied, setting his lips firmly. 

11 i Have you seen a doctor ? Are you 
pqsitive of the truth of your own statement ? ' 
I ventured to inquire, 

" * I have seen one of the first doctors in 
London/ was the reply. 'Now, Lumsden/ he 
added, giving me a wintry sort of smile, * even 
an old friend like you must not abuse your 
privileges. I refuse to answer another 

"He left me, and returned to * The 
Priory. ' This conversation took place 
yesterday morning. I saw Sir Robert later 
in the day. He is completely broken down, 
anil looks like a very old man. It is not only 
his son's mysterious conduct which affects 
him so painfully, but every dream and 
ambition of his life have been bound up in 
the hope that he could hand on his name 
and property to his grandchildren. Captain 
Ga sco ig tie's unaccountable attitude com- 
pletely crushes that hope." 

" Why do you tell me this story ? " I asked, 
after a pause. 

41 Well, with the vain hope that you may 
perhaps help me to get a 
clue to the mystery, Gas- 
coigne refuses to fulfil his 
engagement on the ground 
that he is not in a fit state 
of health to marry. He 
refuses to tell his ailment. 
By what means can I get 
him to speak ? ,J 

M There is no way of 
forcing his confidence/' I 
replied, " It seems to me 
that it is simply a matter 
of tact/ 

" Which valuable quality 
I don't possess a grain of/' 
replied Lumsden. "I wish 
the case were yours, Halifax ; 
you'd soon worm the cap- 
tain's secret out of him/' 

" Not at all/' I answered; 
" I never force any man's 

" You possess a talisman, 
however, which enables you 
to effect your purpose with- 
out force. The fact is, this 
is a serious matter — Gascoigne looks miser- 
able enough to cut his throat, the old man 
is broken down, and the girl, they tell me T 
is absolutely prostrated with grief." 

"Do you think by any chance Gascoigne 
has confided the true state of the case to 
her ?' I inquired. 

"I asked him that/ 7 .said Lumsden — "he 
emphatically said he had net, that his de- 
termination was to carry his secrit to the 

I sat silent,- thinking over this queer case, 
"Are you frightfully busy just now?" 
asked Lumsden, abruptly, 

"Well, I am not idle/' I answered, 
"You could not possibly take a day off 
and come d6#Affl*«J)lfBphire ? " 





" I cannot see your patients, Lumsden, 
unless they wish for my advice," I replied. 

" Of course not, but I am on very friendly 
terms with Sir Robert. In fact, I dine at 
'The Priory' every Sunday. Can you not 
come to Derbyshire with me to-morrow ? As 
a matter of course, you would accompany me 
to < The Priory.' " 

" And act the detective ? " I answered. 
"No, I fear it can't be done. If you can 
iaduce Captain Gascoigne to consult me 
I shall be very glad to give him my opinion. 
But I can't interfere in the case, except in 
the usual orthodox fashion." 

Lumsden sighed somewhat impatiently, 
and did not pursue the subject any farther. 

At an early hour the following morning he 
returned to Derbyshire, and I endeavoured 
to cast the subject of the Gascoignes from 
my mind. Captain Gascoigne's case in- 
terested me, however, and I could not help 
thinking of it at odd moments. The fact of 
the man refusing to marry did not surprise 
me, but his strange determination to keep 
his illness a secret, even from his medical 
man, puzzled me a good deal. 

As I was not Gascoigne's doctor, however, 
there was nothing for it but to try and cast 
the matter from my mind. I did not know 
then that it was my fate to be mixed up in 
the affair to a remarkable degree. 

On the following evening a telegram was 
put into my hand. I opened it and gave a 
start of surprise. It ran as follows : — 

" Sir Robert Gascoigne suffering from 
apoplexy. Wish to consult you. Come to 
* The Priory ' by the first possible train. — 

Harris waited in the room while I read the 

" The messenger is waiting, sir," he said. 

I thought for a few moments, then took 
up my A. B. C, found a suitable train, and 
wrote a hasty reply. 

" With you by nine to-morrow morning" 

The messenger departed, and I went 
to my room to pack a few things. I 
took the night train into Derbyshire, and 
arrived at Wolwrton Station a little after 
eight o'clock the next morning. A carriage 
from ' The Priory ' was waiting for me, and I 
drove there at once. Lumsden met me just 
outside the house. 

" Here you are," he said, coming up to me 
almost cheerily. " I can't say what a relief 
it is to see you." 

" What about the patient ? '' I inter- 

" I am glad to say he is no worse ; on the 

contrary, there are one or two symptoms of 
returning consciousness." 

*' Why did you send for me ? " I asked, 

" Well, you know, I wanted you here for 
more reasons than one. Yesterday Sir 
Robert's case seemed almost hopeless — 
Captain Gascoigne wished for further advice 
— I suggested your name — he knows you by 
repute, and asked me to send for you without 

" That is all right," I answered. " Shall I 
go with you now to see the patient ? " 

Dr. Lumsden turned at once, and I followed 
him into the house. The entrance-hall was 
very large and lofty, reaching up to the 
vaulted roof. A gallery ran round three 
sides of it, into which the principal bedrooms 
opened. The fourth side was occupied by a 
spacious and very beautiful marble staircase. 
This staircase of white marble was, I learned 
afterwards, one of the most remarkable 
features of the house. Sir Robert had gone 
to great expense in having it put up, and 
it was invariably pointed out with pride 
to visitors. The splendid staircase was car- 
peted with the thickest Axmin^er, and my 
feet sank into the heavy pile a™ I followed 
Lumsden upstairs. We entered a spacious 
bedroom. A fourpost bedstead had been 
pulled almost into the middle of the room — 
the curtains had been drawn back for more 
air ; in the centre of the bed lay the old man 
in a state of complete unconsciousness — he 
was lying on his back breathing stertorously. 
I hastened to the bedside and bent over him. 
Before I began my examination, Lumsden 
touched me on the arm. I raised my eyes 
and encountered the fixed gaze of a tall 
man, who looked about five-and-thirty years 
of age. He had the unmistakable air and 
bearing of a soldier as he came forward to 
meet me. This, of course, was Captain 

" I am glad you have been able to come," 
he said. " I shall anxiously await your 
verdict after you have consulted with 

He held out his hand as he spoke. I 
shook it. I saw him wince as if in sudden 
pain, but quick as lightning he controlled 
himself, and slowly left the room. The 
nurse now came forward to assist us in our 
examination. My patient's face was pallid, 
his eyes shut — his breath came fast and with 
effort. After a very careful examination I 
agreed with Lumsden that this attack, severe 
and dangerous*- «s it was, was not to be fatal, 
and that in all probability before very long 



the old baronet would make the usual partial 
recovery in mild cases of hemiplegia. I 
made some suggestions with regard to the 
treatment, and left the room with Lumsden. 
We consulted together for a few minutes, 
and then went downstairs. Captain Gas- 
coigne was waiting for us in the breakfast- 
room, a splendid apartment lined from ceil- 
ing to floor with finely carved oak. 

" Well ? " he said, when we entered the 
room. There was unmistakable solicitude 
in his tones. 

" I take a favourable view of your father's 
condition," I replied, cheerily. " The attack 
is a somewhat severe one, but sensation is 
not completely lost, and he has some power 
in the paralyzed side. I am convinced from 
the present state of the case that there is no 
progressive hemorrhage going on. In short, 
in all probability Sir Robert will regain con- 
sciousness in the course of the day." 

"Then the danger is past?" said the cap- 
tain, with a quick, short sigh of relief. 

"If our prognosis is correct," I replied, 
" the danger is past for the time being." 

" What -do you mean by 'the time being'?" 

" Why, ttos," I replied, abruptly, and look- 
ing full at YW\. "Ina case like the present, 
the blood centres are peculiarly susceptible 
to dilatation. Being diseased, they are soon 
affected by any change in the circulation — a 
slight shock of any kind may lead to more 
hemorrhage, which means a second attack 
of apoplexy. It will, therefore, be necessary 
to do everything in the future to keep Sir 
Robert Gascoigne's mind and body in a state 
of quietude." 

"Yes, yes, that goes without saying," 
answered the son, with enforced calm. 
" Now, come to breakfast, doctor ; you must 
want something badly." 

As he spoke, he approached a well-filled 
board, and began to offer us hospitality in a 
very hearty manner. My account of his 
father had evidently relieved him a good 
deal, and his spirits rose as he ate and talked. 

At Lumsden's earnest request I decided 
not to return to London that day, and Cap- 
tain Gascoigne asked me to drive with him. 
I accepted with pleasure ; my interest in the 
fine, soldierly fellow increased each moment. 
He went off to order the trap, and Lumsden 
turned eagerly to me. 

" I look upon your arrival as a godsend," 
he exclaimed. " The opportunity which I 
have sought for has arrived. It has come 
about in the most natural manner possible. 
I am sincerely attached to my old patient, 
Sir Robert Gascoigne, . and still more so, if 

possible, to his son, whom I have known for 
many years. Of course, it goes without 
saying what is the primary cause of the old 
baronet's attack. Perhaps you can see your 
way to induce Captain Gascoigne to confide 
in you. If so, don't lose the opportunity, I 
beg of you," 

"I am extremely unlikely to have such 
an opportunity," I replied. " You must not 
build up false hopes, Lumsden. If Captain 
Gascoigne likes to speak to me of his own free 
will, I shall be only too glad to listen to him, 
but in my present position I cannot possibly 
lead the way to a medical conference." 

Lumsden sighed impatiently. 

"Well, well," he said, "it seems a pity. 
The chance has most unexpectedly arrived, 
and you might find yourself in a position to 
solve a secret which worries me day and 
night, and has almost sent Sir Robert 
Gascoigne to his grave. I can, of course, say 
nothing farther, but before I hurry away to 
my patients, just tell me what you think of 
the captain." 

"As fine a man as I have ever met," I 
replied, with enthusiasm. 

" Bless you, I don't mean his character : 
what do you think of his health ? " 

" I do not see much amiss with him, 
except " 

"Why do you make an exception?" inter- 
rupted Lumsden. " I have, metaphorically 
speaking, used magnifying glasses to search 
into his complaint, and can't get the most 
remote trace of it." 

" I notice that his right hand is swollen," 
I answered; "I further observe that he 
winces when it is touched." 

" Well, I never saw it," answered Lumsden. 
" What sharp eyes you have. The swollen 
state of the hand probably points to 

" Possibly," I replied. 

At that moment Captain Gascoigne re- 
turned to us. His dog-cart was at the door ; 
w r e mounted, and were soon spinning over 
the ground at a fine rate. The mare the 
captain drove was a little too fresh, however ; 
as we were going down hill, she became 
decidedly difficult to handle. We were 
driving under a railway-bridge^ when a train 
suddenly went overhead, rushing past us with 
a crashing roar. The mare, already nervous, 
lost her head at this juncture, and with a 
quick plunge, first to one side and then 
forward, bolted. I noticed at that moment 
that Gascoigne was losing his nerve — he 
turned to me and spoke abruptly. 

" For goodness sake, take the reins, " he said. 





I did so, and being an old hand, for in 
my youth it had been one of my favourite 
amusements to break-in horses, soon reduced 
the restive animal to order. I turned then 
to glance at the captain — his face was as 
white as a sheet — he took out his handker- 
chief and wiped some moisture from his 

"It is this confounded hand," he said, 
"Thank you, doctor, for coming to my aid 
at a pinch — the brute knew that I could not 
control her — it is wonderful what a system of 
telegraphy exists between a horse and its 
driver; in short, she completely lost her head/' 

11 1 notice that your hand is swollen/' 
I answered. "Does it hurt you? Do you 
suffer from rheumatism ? u 

"This hand looks like rheumatism or gout, 
or something of that sort, does it not ? fJ he 
retorted, " Yes, I have had some sharp 
twinges— never mind now — it is all right 
again* I will take the reins once more, if 
you have no objection^ s 

" If your hand hurts you, shall 
I not drive ? "' 

11 No, no, my hand is all right 

He took the reins, and we 
drove forward without further 
^ parley. 

The country through which 
we went was beautiful, and 
winter as it was, the exhila- 
rating air and the grand shape 
of the land made the drive ex- 
tremely pleasant. 

" It is your honest conviction 
that my father will recover from 
his present attack?" said Captain 
Gascoigne, suddenly, 
" It is," I replied. 
"That is a relief* I could not 
leave the old man in danger, and 
yet it is necessary for me soon to 
join my regiment." 

" Your father will probably be 
himself in the course of a few 
weeks," I replied, "It is essential 
to avoid all shocks in the future. 
I need not tell you tlmt an attack 
of apoplexy is a very^ave matter 
-that a man once affected by it 
is extremely subject to a recur- 
rence ; that such a recurrence is 
fraught with danger to life," 

" You think, in short," continued 
Captain Gascoigne, "that a further 
shock would kill Sir Robert ? " 
"Yes, he must on no account 
be subjected to worry or any mental dis- 

I looked at the man at my side as I spoke. 
He was sitting well upright, driving with 
vigour. His face expressed no more emotion 
than if it were cast in iron. Something, 
however, made him pull up abruptly, and I 
saw a dark flush mount swiftly to his cheek. 
A girl was coming down the road to meet us ; 
she was accompanied by a couple of fox- 
terriers. When she saw us she came eagerly 

" Take the reins, will you, doctor ? " said 
Captain Gaseoigne* 

He sprang from the cart and went to meet 
the young lady. I guessed at once that she 
must be Miss Lynwood. She was a very 
slight, tall girl, with a quick, eager expression 
of face. Her eyes were dark and brilliant ; 
the expression of her mouth was sweet but 
firm ; her bearing was somewhat proud. I 
was too far away to hear what she said. 
Captain ■ '.us, .igntfe interview with her was 




extremely brief. She turned to walk in the 
opposite direction ; he remounted the dog- 
cart and suggested that we should go 
home During our 
drive back he hardly 
spoke. When we 
reached "The Priory" 
I went at once to visit 
my patient, and did 
not see much of the 
captain for the re- 
mainder of the day. 
The sick man was ^ 

making" favourable 
progress, but I thought 
it well not to leave 
him until the follow- 
ing morning. Towards 
evening, as I was ftfe 

standing by the bed- 
side, I was surprised 


to see Sir Robert suddenly open his eyes 
and fix them upon my face. Lumsden 
and Captain Gascoigne were both in the 
room. The old man looked quickly from me 
to them. When he saw his son a queer 
mixture of anxiety and satisfaction crept into 
his face, 

" Dick, come here," he said, in a feeble 

Captain Gascoigne went immediately to 
the bedside and bent over his father. 

** What's up, Dirk ? Who is that ? " He 
glanced in my direction. 

u I have come here to help to make you 
better," I said, taking the initiative at once* 
u I am a doctor, and your old friend Lumsden 
wished to consult me about you. I am glad 
to say you are on the mend, but you must 
stay very quiet, and not excite yourself in 
any way." 

" No, no. I understand, " said Sir Robert. 
u I have been very bad, I suppose ? 
You have done it, Dick, you know you 

" Pray rest, father, now," said the son ; 
w don't think of any worries at present. 1? 
S1 Tut, boy, I can't rest— I'm a disappointed 
man, Dick— I'm a failure— 
this is a fine place, and it 
will go to the dogs — it is 
all your fault, Dick, and 
you know it. If you want 
to help me, you will do 
what I wish — get Helen 
here and have the marriage 
solemnized as quickly as 
possible. Oh, I know what 
I am saying, and I won't 
be silenced — there needn't 
be a fuss— everything is 
ready — the rooms furnished 
— the place in order. You 
can be married by special 
license — you know you 
can, Dick. I sha'n't rest 
in my grave until this thing 
is set righL You get 
Helen here and have the 
wedding by special license, 
yes t yes. There'll be no 
rest for me, Dick, until I 
know that you and Helen 
are — yes - — that you and 
Helen are man and wife.' 1 

"Stay quiet, sir; stay 
quiet, I beg of you/' said 
Captain Gascoigne, in a 
voice of distress. 

" I can't while you are 
so obstinate — do you mean to do what I 
wish?* 1 

The old man's tone was very testy. 
" I will talk the matter over with you 
presently," was the reply; "not now — 
presently, when you are stronger." 

There was something in the captain *s 
voice which was the reverse of soothing. 
An irritable frown came between the patient's 
eyes, and a swift wave of suspicious red dyed 
his forehead, 

il I must ask you to leave the room," I 
whispered to the younger man. 

He did so, his shoulders somewhat bent, 
and a look of pain on his face. 

u Has Dick gone for the license?" said 
Sir Robert, looking at Lumsden, and evidently 
beginning to wander in his mind. 

Lumsden bent suddenly forward* "Every- 
thing shall be done as you wish, Sir Robert, !J 
he said. '* Only remember that we can have 
no wedding until you are well — now go to 



soothing draught, and sat down by the bed to 
watch the effect After a time the patient 
sank into troubled sleep. His excitement 
and partial delirium, however, were the 
reverse of reassuring, and I felt much more 
anxiety about him than I cared to show when 
I ptesently went downstairs to dinner. 

"There is no immediate danger," I said to 
Captain Gascoigne, "but your father has 
.evidently set his heart on something. He 
has a fixed idea — so fixed and persistent that 
his mind will turn to nothing else. Is it not 
possible, '' I continued, abruptly, "to give 
him relief?" 

"In short, to do as he wishes ? " said Captain 
Gascoigne. "No, that is impossible. The 
subject can't even b.? talked over," he con- 
tinued. " Now, gentlemen," he added, looking 
from Dr. Lumsden to me, "I think dinner 
is ready." 

We went into the dining-room, and seated 
ourselves at the table. A huge log fire 
burned in the grate. The massively-furnished 
room looked the picture of winter comfort ; 
nevertheless, I don't think any of us had 
much appetite — there was a sense of tragedy 
even in the very air. After dinner, as we 
were sitting over wine, Dr. Lumsden's con- 
versation and mine turned upon medical 
matters ; Captain Gascoigne, who had been 
silent and depressed during the meal, took up 
a copy of the Times and began to read. Dr. 
Lumsden asked me one or two questions 
with regard to recent discoveries in preven- 
tive medicines. We touched lightly on many 
subjects of interest to medical men like our- 
selves, and I did not suppose for a moment 
that Captain Gascoigne listened to a word of 
our conversation. He rose presently, and 
told us that he was going to find out how his 
father was now. When he returned to the 
room, I was telling Lumsden of one or two 
interesting cases which I had lately come 
across in my hospital practice. 

" I am certain," I sai J, " that inoculation 
with attenuated virus is to be the future treat- 
ment of many of our greatest diseases." 

Captain Gascoigne had come half across 
the room. When I said these words he 
stood as motionless as if something had 
'turned him into stone. I raised my head, 
and our eyes suddenly met. I observed a 
startled, interested expression on his face. 
Quick as lightning an idea came to me. I 
turned my eyes away and continued, with 
vigour: — 

"Such inoculation is, without doubt, the 
future treatment for consumption. Even 
granted that Dr. Koch's theory has failed, 

Vol. x.^3a 

there is every reason to hope that in that 
direction the real cure lies. The new anti- 
toxin treatment for diphtheria proves the 
same thing ; even now there are not un- 
known cases where certain forms of cancer 
have been completely eradicated — in short, 
the poison eliminated from the body by means 
of inoculation." 

"We medical men accept such theories 
very slowly," said Dr. I^umsden. " It will be 
many years before we can confidently employ 

"Why not, if by so doing you can cure 
disease ? " said Captain Gascoigne, abruptly. 

We both looked at him when he spoke. 

" Why not, if you can cure disease ? " he 

"Why not?" repeated Dr. Lumsden — 
" because we doctors dare not run risks. 
Why, sir, we should be responsible for the 
deaths of our patients if we attempted to use 
means of cure which were not proven, in 
short, established by long precedent." 

" Well, gentlemen," he said, " I can't 
attempt to argue with you. It is my firm 
belief, however, that the general run of 
medical practitioners are over-cautious. I 
allude, of course, to cases which are supposed 
under the ordinary treatment to be hopeless. 
Surely if the patient wishes to try the chance 
of a comparatively immature discovery, it is 
allowable for him to do so ? " 

" Such a case is uncommon," I replied ; 
"as a rule, the sick man prefers to go upon 
the beaten track — in other words, does not 
trouble himself about the treatment of his 
disease, leaving it entirely to his doctor." 

" How have you found the patient, 
captain ? " interrupted Dr. Lumsden. 

" Asleep, but restless — the nurse thinks 
there is an increase of fever." 

" I will go and see for myself," I said, 

My conversation with Lumsden was broken 
up, and was not again resumed. We both spent 
an anxious night with the patient, whose case 
was the reverse of satisfactory. As the 
hours flew on, the restless wanderings of 
mind seemed to increase rather than diminish. 
The fixed idea of an immediate marriage for 
his son was again and again alluded to by 
the sick man. He was restless when Captain 
Gascoigne went out of the room. When he 
was present he was even more restless, calling 
him to his side many times, and asking him 
in strained, irritable tones if the special 
license had been applied for, and if Helen — 
as he called her — was in the house. 

Towards morning the delirious and excited 





state of the patient became so alarming that 
I felt certain that if nothing were done to 
relieve him, fresh hemorrhage of the brain 
would set in* I went out of the room, 
motioning Captain Gascoigne to follow me. 

** I fear," I sard, " that the evident anxiety 
from which your father is suffering is acting 
prejudicially, In short, unless something 
can be done to relieve him, I must modify 
the favourable opinion which I have already 
given you of his case. Unless his mind is 
immediately relieved, he may have another 
attack before many hours have gone by- 
Such an attack will be, in all probability, fatal." 

I looked hard at the captain as I spoke. 
He had folded his arms, and stood very 
erect facing me. 

"What do you propose ? " he said, abruptly, 

"You have evidently given him distress/' 
I said. "Can you not reconsider the posi- 
tion f* 

He gave a short, irritable laugh, "Good 
heavens, doctor," he exclaimed, "don't you 
suppose I am man enough to accede to my 
father's wish, if it were possible? Can you 
not see for yourself that the present state of 
affairs is agony to me?" 

"I am certain of it," I replied* "I must 
not urge you further. The fact is, Lumsden 
has told me something of your story. Only 
a very grave cause would make you refuse to 
fulfil your engagement with Miss Lynwood," 

" You are right. The cause is very grave." 

" You can't tell me what it is ? It is possible 
that I might be able to counsel you." 

" Thanks ; but 
I am past counsel 
— the end is in- 
evitable — unless, 
indeed — but, no 
—I must not bring 
myself to entertain 
hope. The person 
now to be con- 
sidered is my 
father. You say, 
doctor, that if his 
wish in this matter 
is not gratified, he 
will die ? " 

11 It seems ex- 
tremely like it," I 
said, "He has 
evidently set his 
heart on your mar- 
riage — in his 
present diseased 
state the longing 
to see you mar- 
ried has become a mania." 

" There is nothing whatever for me to do 
then/ 5 he said, " but to lie to him." ■ 
" I would scarcely do that," I exclaimed, 
" Yes you would, if you were me, 1 must 
pledge myself; he must be saved. Not 
another word — my mind is made up," 

He left me before I could expostulate 
further, and returned to the sick room* The 
old man's arms were flung out over the bed- 
clothes — he was muttering to himself and 
pulling feebly at the sheets* 

Captain Gascoigne went and sat down by 
the bed — he laid one of his hands on his 
father's, holding it firmly down. 

" Listen to me," he said, in a low voice. 
"I have reconsidered everything, I alter 
my determination not to marry* I swear 
now, before Heaven, that if 1 live I will 
marry Helen Lynwood." 

"]>o you mean it, Dick?" said Sir 

" On my honour, yes, father; I have 

" Good boy — good boy ; this is a relief. 
That queer scruple about your health is laid 
to rest, then ? " 

"Quite, father. If I live, Helen shall be 
my wife." 

"You never told me a lie yet, Dick — you 
are speaking the truth now ? " 

"On my honour," said the soldier* 
He looked his father full in the eyes. The 
sick man gave a pleased smile and patted 
his son's hariiiginal from 





"I believe you, Dick," he said; "I am 
quite satisfied — when can the marriage take 
place ? " 

" We need not fix a date to-night, need 

"No, no; I trust you, Dick." 

" Perhaps, sir, you will try and sleep now 
— your mind being at rest." 

" Yes, my mind is quite at rest," said the 
baronet — " Dick never told me a lie in his 
life — thank the Almighty for His goodness, I 
shall live to see my grandchildren about the 
old place — yes, I am sleepy — I don't want a 
composing draught — keep at my side, Dick, 
until I drop off. We'll have Helen here 
early in the morning — how happy she will be, 
poor little girl — I should like to see Helen as 
soon as I awake." 

The patient kept on mumbling in a con- 
tented, soothed voice — all trace of irritation 
had left his voice and mariner. In less than 
half an hour he was sound asleep. He slept 
well during the night, and in the morning 
was decidedly better — the anxious symptoms 
had abated, and I had every hope of his 
making a quick recovery. 

One of his first inquiries was for Miss 

"I am going to fetch her," said the 

I saw him drive off in the dog-cart In 
about an hour and a half he returned with 
the young lady. I was standing by the 
patient's side when she came in. She was 
dressed in furs, and wore a small fur cap over 
her bright hair. The drive had brought a 
fresh colour to her cheeks— her eyes sparkled. 
She entered the room in the alert way which 
I had observed about her when I saw her for 
a moment on the previous day. She went 
straight up to the sick man and knelt down 
by his side. 

" Well, dad," she said, " you see, it is all 

I marvelled at her tone — it was brisk and 
full of joy. Had Captain Gascoigne told 
her the truth ? Or had he, by any chance, 
tried to deceive this beautiful girl, in order 
more effectually to aid his father's recovery ? 
Watching her more closely, however, I saw 
that she was brave enough to play a difficult 

" Yes, Helen, it is all right," said the 
baronet " Dick is well, and has come to 
his senses. That illness of his turned out 
to be a false alarm — he had an attack of 
nerves, nothing more. We'll have a gay 
wedding in a few days, little girl." 

" You must get well," she answered, patting 

Digitized by^OOglC 

his cheek. " Remember, nothing can be 
done until you are well." 

" Bless you, child, I shall be well fast 
enough. Your face and Dick's would make 
any man well. Where is that nurse ? Why 
doesn't she bring me food — I declare I'm 
as hungry as a hawk. Ah, doctor, you 
there ? " continued the baronet, raising his 
eyes, and fixing them on my face. " Remem- 
ber, you didn't cure me. It was Dick's doing, 
not yours. Dick, bless him, has set the old 
man right" 

I left the room abruptly. Captain Gas- 
coigne met me on the landing. 

" You play your part well," I said ; " but 
what about the denotiment ? " 

" I have considered everything," said the 
captain. " I shall keep my word. If I live 
I will marry." 

I looked at him in astonishment A 
glance showed me that he did not mean 10 
confide further in me then, and I soon after- 
wards returned to town. Lumsden promised 
to write to report the patient's progress ; and, 
much puzzled as to the ultimate issue cf 
this queer story, I resumed my town work. 
I arrived in London early in the afternoon, 
and went immediately to visit some patients. 
When I returned to my own house it was 
dinner-time. The first person I met in the 
hall was Captain Gascoigne. 

" Have you bad news ? " I cried, in as- 
tonishment. " Is there a change for the 
worse ? " 

" No, no, nothing of the sort," was the 
reply. " My father mends rapidly. The fact 
is, I have come to see you on my own 
account. In short, I have made up my mind 
to consult you." 

" I am right glad to hear it," I answered, 
heartily. " You must join me at dinner now, 
and afterwards we will go carefully into your 

" I am anxious to catch the night mail 
back to Wolverton," said the captain ; "but, 
doubtless, you can spare an hour to me 
after dinner, and that, I am sure, will be 
quite sufficient." * 

During the meal which followed, Captain 
Gascoigne was silent and distrait. I did net 
interrupt him with many remarks, but as 
soon as it was over we went straight to the 

" Now," he said, "I will tell you what is 
up. I had made up my mind to carry my 
secret to the grave. The strange state of 
affairs at c The Priory,' however, has induced 
me to break this resolve. I have a double 
reason for confiding in you, Dr. Halifax. 




First, because of what occurred last night — 
second, in consequence of some words which 
you let drop in conversation with Dr. 
Lumsden. These words seemed very strange 
to me at the time, but the more I think over 
them, the more anxious I am to talk further 
with you on the subject. In short, they 
have inspired me with the ghost of a 

" What is the matter with you ? " I said, 
abruptly. " What is your malady ? " 

The captain had been seated — he now 
stood up. 

" Help me off with this coat, doctor, if you 
will," he said. 

I removed it carefully, but notwithstanding 
all my precautions I saw him wince as I 
touched his right arm. 

" You notice this hand," he said, holding 
out his right hand as he spoke ; " you noticed 
it the other day when I was driving ? " 

" Yes," I replied ; " it is much swollen." 

" It is. That could be set down to gout 
or rheumatism, could it not ? " 

" It could," I answered ; " it has, doubtless, 
another cause." 

" It has, Dr. Halifax. You shall examine 
my terrible disease for yourself — but first let 
me tell you what ails me." 

He leant against the mantelpiece as he 
spoke — his face was very white. One or two 
beads of perspiration stood prominently out 
on his forehead. When he began to speak 
he looked straight at me with a frown between 
his eyes. 

"God knows I never meant to whine about 
this to anyone," he said ; " I meant to take it 
as a man — it was the state of the old governor 
and Helen's grief and her wonderful bravery 
that upset me. Well, here's the case. You 
must know that my mother died of cancer — 
the thing was hushed up, but the fact remains 
— she suffered horribly. I recollect her last 
days even now. I was a small boy at the 
time. The dread of cancer — of having 
inherited such a fearful disease — has haunted 
me more or less all my life. Two or three 
years ago in India I had a bad fall from 
my horse. I came down with great weight 
on my right shoulder. The stiffness and sore- 
ness remained for some time, and then they 
passed away. A year later the stiffness and 
soreness began to return — my shoulder-bone 
began to thicken — I could only move it with 
difficulty. I consulted some doctors, who set 
down the whole affection to rheumatism, and 
gave me ordinary liniments. The pain did 
not abate, but grew worse. The shoulder 
began to swell and soon afterwards the arm, 

Dioilize<J bv viOUvlc 

right down, as you see, to my finger-tips. 
These painful symptoms set in about six 
months ago. I was expected home, and 
all the arrangements for my wedding were 
complete. 1 was seized, however, with 
forebodings. As soon as ever I landed 
in England, I went to see the well- 
known specialist for tumours, Sir John 
Parkes. He was not long in giving his 
verdict. It was concisive and conclusive. 
He said I was suffering from osteosarcoma of 
the shoulder — that the disease was advanced, 
that the removal of the entire arm and 
shoulder-bone might save my life, but the 
disease was in such a position involving the 
bones of the shoulder girdle, and having 
already invaded the glands, that the pro- 
babilities were almost certain that it would 
return. I had a bad quarter of an hour with 
the surgeon. I went away, spent the night in 
town, and quickly made up my mind how to 
act. I would break off my engagement and 
go from home to die. I shrank inexpres- 
sibly from my father or Miss Lynwood know- 
ing the exact nature of my sufferings. It would 
be necessary to tell them that the state of my 
health forbade matrimony, but I firmly re- 
solved that they should never know by what 
horrible disease I was to die. That is the 
case in brief, doctor." 

" May I look at your shoulder ? " I said. 

I carefully removed the shirt and looked 
at the svvollen and glazed arm and shoulder. 
There was little doubt of the accuracy of the 
great Sir John Parkes's diagnosis. 

II Sit down," I said ; " from my heart I am 
sorry for you. Do you suffer much ? " 

" At times a good deal — the effort to keep 
back even the expression of pain is some- 
times difficult ; for instance, in driving the 
other day— but, ah, you noticed ? ; ' 

" I did — I saw that you winced — little 
wonder. Upon my word, Captain Gascoigne, 
you are a hero." 

" Not that," he answered. " In some ways 
I am a coward. This thing humiliates me as 
well as tortures me. I have had the instincts 
of the animal ever since I knew the worst ; 
my wish has been to creep away and die 
alone. After what occurred last night, how- 
ever, matters have changed." 

u What do you mean ? " I said. 

"Can you not see for yourself what I 
mean ? In a moment of extremity, I 
promised my father that I would marry 
Helen Lynwood, if I lived. You see for 
yourself that nothing will save me from the 
consequences of that promise except death." 

" Still, I dorrt understand you," I answered. 





" I can soon make myself plain* Do you 
remember what you said to Lumsden about 
an immature discovery' — a discovery which 
has been known to cure diseases such as 
mine? You both spoke of this discovery 
as in its infancy— never mind, I want you to 
try it on me." 

44 My de^r fellow, you must be mad," 

44 Not at all ; this is my last chance. It is 
due both to Helen and my father that I 
should take advantage of it In a case like 
mine a man will submit to anything. In 
short, I have quite made up my mind, 
Whatever the risk, I am willing to run it 
The treatment may kill me ; if so, I am 
willing to die. On the other hand, there is 
an off chance that it may cure me — then I 
can marry Helen, There is not an hour to 
lose, doctor. When can you operate?"" 

** You astonish me more than I can say," 
I answered. 44 I almost wish you had never 
overheard my remarks to Lumsden, I only 
talked over the new treatment with him as 
on* medical man would mention a possible 
discovery to another." 

14 But you believe in it ? " 
I do believe in its ultimate success." 

m It has been tried, has it not t n 

"In France, yes/ 1 

44 And with success ? " 

44 1 am given to understand that there has 
been success," 

44 That is all right — you will try it ori me? 31 

44 My dear fellow, I am inclined to say that 
you ask the impossible/' 

44 Don't say that — in my extreme case, 
nothing is impossible; think the matter over, 
Dr. Halifax. Try and picture the horrible 
dilemma I am in, I am suffering from an 
incurable complaint — I have the prospect 
before me, at no very distant date, of a 
terrible and painful death. I am my father's 
only son — the property goes from the direct 
line if I die. In order to save my fathers 
life I promised him to marry if I lived. 
There is, therefore, no thought for me of a 
prolonged life of ill-health, I must either 
get well quickly or I must die. Surely a 
desperate man may risk anything. The 
treatment which I beg of you to adopt is 
kill or cure, is it not ? Then kill or cure 

44 The treatment which you beg me to 
adopt/' I repeated, quoting his words, " is 
undoubtedly death from blood poisoning, if 
it does not effect its end of killing your 
disease, not you," 

44 1 am willing to take the risk — anything 
is better than the present awful state of 

"Does Miss Lynwood know of this?" 

4 * She does— (Jod Mess her! I shrank 
from telling her the truth— I did not know 
what mettle she was made of. This morn- 
ing, in my despair, I confided everything 
to her, You don't know what stuff she 
has in her. She bore the whole awful truth 
without wincing. She said she was with me 
in the whole matter — it is as much at her in- 
stigation 35 my own desire that I now consult 
you. We have both resolved to be true to 
my father, and to keep the promise wrung 
from me last night by his desperate state. 
If I live we will marry. You see for your- 
self that it must be a case of kill or cure, for 
I cannot run the risk of bringing children 
into the world in my present terrible state of 
health. You see the situation, do you not ? 
My father is recovering, because his mind is 
relieved. Everything, in short, now depends 
on you. Will you, or will you not, help 

44 1 ought to say * no/ " I answered. * 4 1 
ought to tell you frankly that this is not a 
case for me — I ought, perhaps, to counsel 
you to put yourseH into the hands of one of 


3° 2 


those French doctors who have already made 
this matter a special study — but — — " 

fcl But you won't/' said Captain Cascoigne 
— c * I see by your manner that you will give 
me the advantage of your skill and knowledge 
— your kindness and sympathy. On the next 
few weeks the whole future of three people 
depends. The thing will be easier both for 
Helen and myself, if you will he our friend in 
the matter." 

** Can you come again in the morning?" 1 I 
said- ** I must think this over — I must make 
up my mind how to act" 

"You will give me a definite answer in the 
morning ? n 

" I will." 

Captain Gascoigne rose slowly — I helped 
him into his coat, and he left the room. 

As soon as he was gone, I went to see a 
very able surgeon, who was a special 
friend of mine. I described the 
whole case to him — gave him in 
brief Sir John Parkes's verdict, 
and then asked his opinion with 
regard to the other 

14 It is a case 
of life or death," 
I said, " Under 
ordinary circum- 
stances, nothing 
could save Cap- 
tain Gascoigne's 
life — he is anxious 
to run the risk," 

14 As I see it» 
there is no risk," 
replied my friend 

^ What do you 
mean ? " 

"The man will 
die if it is not 

" That is true." 

" T h e n m y 
opinion is — give 
him a chance."' 

. " I agree with you," I said, rising to my 
feet, " I know you have studied these 
matters more carefully than I have, I will 
go to Paris to-morrow, and make all necessary 

In the morning t when Captain Gascoigne 
arrived, I told him the result of my interview 
with Courtland. 

" In short/' I said, ** I am prepared to 
treat you by this new method provided my 
investigations in Paris turn out satisfactory, 
1 shall go to Paris by the night mail, return- 

ing again the following nighL Let me see-- 
this is Thursday morning. Be here by ten 
o'clock on Saturday morning, and I shall 
have further news for you/' 

il I have no words to thank you," he said 
" I am going hack to Derbyshire now to see 
Helen, and to tell her what you have 

"You must not build absolute hopes on 
anything until after I have seen the doctors in 

" I will not." 

He smiled as he spoke. Poor fellow, I 
saw hope already returning to his eyes. 

I went to Paris — my investigations turned 
out satisfactory. I saw one of the leading 
doctors of the new school, and talked over 
the anti-toxin system in all its bearings. His 
remarks were full of encouragement — he 


considered serothtrapk as undoubtedly the 
future treatment for cancer— three cases of 
remarkable cure were already on record. He 
furnished me with some of the attenuated 
virus, and T in short, begged of me to lose no 
time in operating on my patient. Having 
obtained the necessary instructions and the 
attenuated virus, I returned to London, and 
prepared to carry out this new and mo^t 
interesting cure- Captain Gascoigne arrived 
punctually to the moment on Saturday morn- 
ing. I told him what I had done, and asked 




him to secure comfortable lodgings in Harley 
Street, as near my house as possible. He 
did so, and came back that evening to tell me 
of the result. 

: " To-morrow will be Sunday," I said. " I 
propose to begin the new treatment to-morrow 
morning. I shall inoculate you with the 
virus three times a day." 

" How long will it be before the result is 
known ? " he asked. 

" I shall very soon be able to tell whether 
the new treatment acts as direct blood 
poison or not," I answered. IC Your business 
now is to keep cheerful — to hope for the 
best — and to turn your thoughts away from 
yourself as much as possible. By the way, 
how is Sir Robert ? " 

"Getting on famously — he thinks that I 
have come up to town to make preparations 
for my wedding." 

" Let him think so — I begin to hope that 
we shall have that wedding yet. And how 
is Miss Lynwood ? " 

" Well, and full of cheer — she has great 
faith — she believes in you and also in the 
new remedy." 

" Well, Captain Gascoigne, if this succeeds, 
you will not only have saved your own life 
and that of your father, but will have added 
a valuable and important contribution to 
modern science." 

He smiled when I said this, and shortly 
afterwards left me. 

I began a series of inoculations the follow- 
ing morning. I introduced the attenuated 
virus into the shoulder — inoculating small 
doses three times a day. The patient re- 
quired most careful watching, and I secured 
the attendance of my most trustworthy 
nurses for him. His temperature had to be 
taken at short intervals, and his general 
health closely attended to. The first day 
there was no reaction — on the second, the 
temperature rose slowly — the pulse quickened 
— the patient was undoubtedly feverish. 
I inoculated smaller doses of the virus, 
and these unfavourable symptoms quickly 

In a week's time the treatment began to 
tell upon the arm — the pain and swelling 
became less, the arm could be moved with 
greater freedom, the hand became com- 
paratively well. Captain Gascoigne appeared 
in every other respect to be in his usual 
health —he ate well, slept well, and was full 
of hope. I began to introduce larger doses, 
which he now bore without serious reaction 
of any kind. I had begged of Courtland to 
help me in the case, and he and I made 

interesting and important notes evening after 

From what I had learned from the French 
doctors, I expected the cure, if successful, to 
take about forty days. On the twentieth day 
the patient suffered from great depression — 
he suddenly lost hope, becoming nervous 
and irritable. He apprehended the worst — 
watched his own symptoms far too closely, 
and lost both appetite and sleep. His con- 
viction at that time was that the cure would 
not avail, and that death must be the result. 

" This inaction kills me," he said ; " I 
would gladly face the cannon's mouth, but I 
cannot endure the slow torture of this 
suspense. I told you that in some respects 

I am a coward — I am proving myself one." 

During these anxious few days all my 
arguments proved unavailing — Captain Gas- 
coigne lost such hope that for a time he 
almost refused to allow the treatment to be 
continued. I watched over him, and thought 
of him day and night I almost wondered if 
it might be best to send for Miss Lynwood, 
and one day suggested this expedient to the 

He started in irritation to his feet. 

" Do you think I would allow the girl I 
love to see me in this condition ? " he said. 

II No, no, I will fight it out alone. You said 
it would be kill or cure. I hope, doctor, 
that I shall face the worst as a soldier 

" But the worst is not here," I answered. 
" If you would but pluck up heart, you would 
do splendidly. The cure is going well ; there 
is every reason to hope that within three 
weeks' time you will be as well as ever you 
were in your life." 

" Do you mean it ? " he said, his face 

" I do — if you will but conquer your own 

He looked at me. The colour dyed his 
forehead. He abruptly left the room. 

My words, however, had turned the tide. 
In the evening he was more hopeful, and 
from that time his spirits rose daily. 

" The chance of cure is excellent," I said 
to him one morning. 

" The wedding can soon take place," was 
my remark a week later. 

At last a day came when there was no 
tumour to treat. The arm and shoulder 
were once more quite well, nothing appeared 
of the disease but a comparatively harmless 
induration. I injected large doses now of the 
virus without the slightest reaction of any 




One morning Captain Gascoigne came 
early to see me. 

" I saw a look on your face last night 
which told me something," he said. 

u What ? " I asked. 

illness through which he has passed will 
probably leave its sting as long as he lives/' 

" Probably," I answered, 

" Then I have made up my mind. He 
must never know the storm through which 


<c That I am cured ! " 

" You are, 1 ' I said, 

" Quite, doctor ? " he asked. " Is the 
poison quite eliminated from my system ? ,! 

"Wonderful as it is to relate, 1 believe that 
this is the case," I replied. 

14 Then I may safely marry ? " 

" You may." 

" My children, if I have any, have no chance 
of inheriting the horrors which I have gone 
through ? JJ 

** It is my belief that the hereditary taint is 
completely eliminated," I answered, 

* 4 Good," he replied. 

He walked abruptly to the window, and 
looked out. .Suddenly he turned and faced 

"My father is an old man," he said. "The 

I have passed, I promised him, when he 
was apparently dying, that I would marry 
Helen if I lived. Helen tells me that my 
mysterious absence from home during the 
last six weeks has puzzled and irritated him 
much. He has even threatened to come 
to town to look for me. I mean to put 
this suspense at an end in the quickest 
possible manner. I shall immediately get a 
special license — Helen will come to town if 
I telegraph to her. We can be married 
to-morrow morning. Will you attend us 
through the ceremony, doctor, and so see 
the thing out? We can then return to 
* The Priory ' and set the old man's fears at 
rest for ever. Will you come, doctor? You 
owe it to us, I think." 

I promised — and kept my word. 

by Google 

Original from 

Portraits of Ceiebrities at Different Times of their Lives. 

the Bar in 1876 ; 
went on the Northern 

Circuit, and took silk 
in iSSft. He was ap- 
pointed judge in 
1892, and received 
the honour of knight- 
hood in the same 
year. Mr, Justice 
Barnes married, in 
iSSt, the eldest 
daughter of the late 
Thomas Mitchell, 



Born 1848. 
|R, JUSTICE BARNES, a Judge of the 

&/A % Probate, Divorce, and Admiralty Divisions; 
' l vS I was e ducatud at St. Peter's College^ Cam- 
.^KajggJ bridge, and took his B.A. degree in 1.S6S 
and his MA* in 1871. He was called to 

AfcF, 33. 

Frwa. a Piutta. fr^ 
Altua-ntttr Ft nrii, 

St Worite. 

auk 40. 
From a Photo, by Anlvnio irorpat& t Venice. 

Vol. x, — 30. 




i886. He was Under-Secretary of State for 
India in 1891-92, and having travelled much 
in the East, is one of the first living autho- 
rities on Eastern 
topics, He has pub- 
lished "Russia in 
Central Asia," 
" Persia and the Per- 
sian Question," and 
" Problems of the Far 
East/' 1894. He has 
just been appointed 
Under-Secretary for 
Foreign Affairs by 

ACE 5. 
Fnmi a Ph&i&. b$ MuptfU, Regent StFttL 


Born 1859, 
CUR7-ON was educated at Eton 
and Balliol College, Oxford, where 
he made his mark as a speaker 
at the Union Society's debates, 
and afterwards as president of that famous 
club. He took his B.A. degree in 1884 and 

Lord Salis- 
bury in his 
new Govern- 
ment Some 
f r m h i s 
hand will be 
found on 
pages 288 
and 280. 

Fr*»n rt Fhrto by W. U\ H"m6*r h Jterty 

1 .'.M 



% £. 



^+ ■ . 

aw j ^^ 


^I^^^HI Iff fi. 

his M.A. in 1887, and was elected to the 
Fellowship at All Souls', He has represented 
the South port Division of Lancashire since 





.1 II. Ikv 

ai.j: 10. 
a Phata, h v W. 

incidental engagements with Sir Augustus Harris and in 
I "Morocco Bound." She. now takes the part of Daisy 
±d ixnJL vCKWl&i " An Artist's MWIMl ,r OT ffieTLvric Theatre. 




\ i J /*ji(r^ l rrci^iAv 



Born 1848. 

TAILLE, [jcrhaps the military 
painter of the day, showed at an early 
\ age a great inclination to that branch 
of art which has since made him famous 
the world over. Directly after the completion of 

but scored his first real success with the 

" Hake des Tambours/' which was much 

praised and admired by critics and public 

alike. He served in the Franco-Prussian War 

of 1870 7 1 , 

during which 

campaign he 

picked up 

much of his 


knowledge of 

soldier 1 1 ft.\ 

M. Detaille's 

pictures are 

so numerous 

that space 

will not allow 

of their being 

men t io ned 

here, but 


JVoth a /'ftofu. bg\ Mil -■-'- | ItivUri,. l'ar\*. 

his education he entered Meis- 
soniers studio, whose favourite 
l>Lipi| he soon became, 
his first picture to the Salon 

in ,867, 

AGS 40. 
Fruiu u /AijIu. by A'aditr, I'arxM. 

** The Charge of the 
Ninth Cuirassiers at 
M orsbron n 7t and 
"Salute to the 
Wounded fl are no 
doubt familiar to 
many- M. Detaille 
recently came to 
London, when he 
painted the portrait of 
the Prince of Wales, 
which was exhibited 
with great success at 
;^"igir frtfflfc year's Salon, 


pfcFHl'M- ItAV. 

IV a r Ballooning. 

By Charles Knight. 


HE next European war will be 
a strange and fearful thing ; 
everyone seems pretty sure 
about that. Writers of fiction 
with strong imaginations and a 
smattering of military science 
are constantly producing forecasts of this 
fascinating subject We learn that Mr. 
Maxim's guns will be very much to the fore ; 
probably, also, Mr, Ma\inrs embryonic 
flying machines. Then we hear of messen- 
ger dogs, swarms of poisonous flies, and 
above all — in a dual sense — war balloons, 

assisted in his very interesting work by 
Sergeant Major Greener; and the accompany- 
ing group shows the entire staff of the first 
division of the Balloon Section when in the 
lield, />♦, these men work the balloon. 

Without exception, these men are enthu- 
siasts in their work, and although they are 
associated with what may be described as 
the most interesting and novel branch of the 
service, they themselves, are by no means 
inflated. At any rate, there is very little 
doubt that the British taxpayer got his quid 
pro quo — and perhaps a little more — in return 

fa-ant a l*Kit4i. hy 


[L'harU* Kmyh' 

whose mission it will be to drop charges of 
dynamite and things of that kind upon all and 
sundry whom it may be advisable to destroy. 
All this leads up to the fact that we 
have a full-blown School of Ballooning 
at Aldershot, under the direction of Colonel 
Tempter, whose name has for many years 
been associated with advanced military 
science, especially as regards the war 
balloon. The school at Aldershot is at 
present established in the Stanhope Lines, 
where large buildings have been erected on 
what was a few years ago nothing but a 
dangerous swamp. Colonel Templer is 

JfctfgK 1 

for last year's ballooning grant, which was 
rather less than ^3,000. 

Colonel Templer generates his own gas 
from diluted sulphuric acid and granu- 
lated zinc* The lifting power of the 
hydrogen generated in this way is much 
greater than that of ordinary coal gas, 
but then its cost is much more. When 
manufactured, the hydrogen is compressed at 
" too atmospheres" pressure and stowed away, 
so to speak, into huge Siemens steel cylinders, 
each averaging about 90II). in weight Ten 
of these elongated tubes are placed for con- 
veyance eoTlihjirfelldrofTbnttle upon admirably 




for tliis purpose pencils of various colours ; 
one colour denotes cavalry, another infantry, 
and so on. 

In the nest picture we see that everything is 
ready ; the crew arc on board, and the men 
who :ire holding the giant captive are awaiting 
the order to " Let go. ' The moment this 
order is given the immense aerostat shoots 
straight up like a rocket, but pressure is 
gradually brought to bear on the connecting 
rope, and when at an altitude of several 
hundred feet, the upward course of the 

tfrom ti i'hota. bp| 

contrived waggons, usually drawn by horses ; 
of course, under certain conditions, the 
gallant Colonel could utilize the baggage 
train, of which he is so great an advocate. 

It takes, as a very simple calculation will 
immediately show, two waggon loads of gas to 
inflate a balloon of 10,000 cubic feet 
capacity, such as is shown in the accom- 
panying illustration. Here we have the 
working staff, with two lieutenants in com- 
mand of the section, the waggon and its 
team, and, lastly, the inevitable crowd of 
curious onlookers, with the still more inevit- 
able sprinkling of the small boy genus, 
without which no operation of the kind 
would be complete. 

The man standing upon the car affiles 
one end of a screw nozzle to the mouth of 
a gas cylinder, while another of the engineers 
places the connecting tube to the nozzle of 
the balloon. The man on the car then 
gently turns on a very nicely constructed 
valve, which permits the compressed gas to 
leave the cylinder only at a very moderate 
rate. The balloon inflated, we will suppose 
that Lieutenant Hume and a brother officer 
are told off for the duty of reconnoitring the 
enemy's position. The two officers take with 
them a map of the surrounding country, on 
the scale of 2 in, to the square mile. Of 
course, they are provided with field-glasses, 
and the moment they discern the enemy and 
are able to gauge his approximate strength, 
they make certain notes upon the map, using 

is checked,* and it sways 
gently to and fro, 
while the skilful 
officers in the car 
anxiously scan the 
magnificent pros- 
[>ect of country far 
below them. The 
moment any defi- 
nite information is 
obtained as to the 
enemy's move- 
ments, the map 
spoken of above is marked according to such 
information, and then placed in a canvas bag, 
to which a ring is attached in such a way that 
it glides swiftly down the rope to the ground, 
where a mounted orderly j.s in waiting. The 

[Vhnrlfjt KtHtfiit 

AWAH'IMi I" UK ifklHr'K B"i » Lh I I 

From a 1'h'du. bit Charki ftniffht, 

orderly immediately gallops off with the very 
latest intelligence to the General in command. 
The British war balloon has long since 
ceased to be manufactured from silk— though 
this material is even now generally used by 
professional parachu»is;s and aeronauts for 




>, I. U v R V I N C T H K * hf KMVS 

/■'miii (( Photo, by Charlt.* Knight. 

their " envelopes." After many experiments, 
however, a perfectly impermeable material 
has been manufactured from ox-gut by a 
series of secret processes. 

It is an interesting fact that in the manu- 
facturing shed at Aldershot, women are 
employed in the making of the balloons, 
which are for the 
most part of a 
capacity equal to 
1 0,000 cubic feet, 
and have when 
fully inflated a lift- 
ing power of some- 
thing like 700th. 

There are at 
present in the 
store-room at 
Aldershot thirty- 
two fully equipped 
balloons, ready at 
an hour's notice to 
go on active ser- 
vice ; and, what is 
more, if, m actual 
warfare, they are 
found as useful as 
they have been 
at the Army manoeuvres, their actual value 
will not have been at all over-estimated. 

The envelope of the balloon is inclosed in a 
net-work of very strong cord, which is fastened 
below the nozzle of the balloon to a stout hoop 
that supports the car. The cord is manufac- 

tured by a justly-celebrated firm of ropemakers 
in the north of England, from hemp specially 
grown in sunny Italy ; and although it is so 
light that a section 100ft long does not weigh 
a pound, and it is only about J^in. in dia- 
meter, yet it will stand a strain of 5001b. 
without breaking. I have myself seen this 
cord practically tested by Sergeant-Major 
Greener on a dynamometer. The car of the 
war balloon accommodates a con pie of men, 
and it is made of very strong wicker-work. It 
is 2ft. 3m. deep, the same in width, and 3ft. 
6m, long. This car is fastened to the hoop 
above by very strong ropes : and, of course, 
for reconnoitring purposes, it is supplied with 
a grapnel, a captive rope, a photographic out- 
fit, and many other articles that are carried 
in the common or Crystal Palace variety of 

In the next illustration is seen the most 
direct and valuable mode of communication 
between the officers in the car of the war 
balloon and the forces below, I refer to tele- 
phonic communication. In the picture it will 
be seen that alight waggon carries the necessary 
electrical plant. On the occasion of my own 
visit to the scene of operations, I watched an 
orderly gallop up to this wonderful piece of 
portable mechanism, and he roared into the 
cart, as it were, " Any fresh information ? " 

The officer, with a truly astonishing quick- 
ness, gained most important news, receiving a 

[Cftorlu Knujht. 

rcl is manufa 

reply which ran as follows : " There is a large 
body of cavalry on your right flank, behind 
the hill, deployed ready to charge the 
supports." This message came in an 
amazingly _ sharp and articulate voice — a 
veritable vzvd-zvc? message from the clouds. 




Frvoi a. i'mto. bg] 


I CAftridf }iitii\jiit, 

The Accompanying reproduction shows the 
Aldershot war balloon "Talisman" recon- 
noitring at such an altitude as to command 
the entire radius of country over which the 
manoeuvres are being conducted. It will 
be noticed that on the windward side the 
balloon is rather flat, instead of convex ; 
this indicates that there is a vacuum, so it 
is coming down to be refilled. The body 
of cavalry seen is being wholly guided by 
instructions received from the ** Talisman." 

The system of reconnaissance by pencil- 
coloured maps dropped from the l>alloon at 
present holds the field against photography ; 
but it must not be assumed that the camera 
is a wholly futile ally on the battlefield. As 
a matter of fact, most successful and valuable 
pictures are constantly obtained, showing in 
most beautiful detail the nature of the 
surrounding country and the obstacles to be 
encountered. You must remember, though, 
that it Lakes at least half an hour to photo- 
graph, develop and dry the negative, and 
print a proof; from which it is obvious that 
information given to the commanding officer 
by this means is a little stale, as it conveys to 
him rather where his op- 
ponent was y than where 
he is at the moment 

When the officers in 
the balloon have procured 
all the information pos- 
sible regarding the move- 
ments of the enemy, the 
war balloon is brought 
down, and is towed into 
some sheltered valley by 

the men of the 
balloon section, as 
is seen in the last 
photograph re- 
produced here; 
then, of course, the 
balloon is placed 
under sentry pro- 
tection, Not that 
much protection is 
needed, save, per- 
haps, from the de- 
rision of the small 
boy genus before 
referred to + I dis- 
tinctly remember 
seeing a balloon- 
towing party followed by a troop of gaming 
who, far from being in] pressed by the huge 
machine, gave tongue from time to time and 
implored the men to u tike it Wie." 

Such is the work of the captive balloon. 
There are times, however, when Sergeant- 
Major Greener and otheT officers release the 
captive and travel to different parts of the 
surrounding country at a speed of perhaps 
forty miles an hour. As one might imagine, 
however, this speed is hardly noticed by the 
occupants of the balloon. 

At the Aldershot School of Ballooning, 
selected officers go through a course of 
instruction at appointed seasons ; and, 
altogether, we may feci assured that we are 
well to the fore, as a nation, in the science 
of belligerent aeronautics. 

TilL imuM, \'.\ i. i . 

\t 'fair lit Kxitfht. 

by Google 

Original from 

From the Italian of E. de Amicis, By Alas Hallard. 

[Erlmonrfo dc Am ids, one of the most striking of Italian writers now living, was horn at Oncglia in 1846, 
and educated at the University of Turin, At the age of seventeen he proceeded to the Military College at 
Modcna» and then entered the army as a sub- lieu tenant. He took part in the expeditions against the hrigands 
in Sicily in 1S66, and there gathered the practical experience which he afterwards turned to use in such thrilling 
yet pathetic stories as that which we now re pro. luce, and which is in all probability I rased on actual fact. In 
[871 he quitted the army in order to tlcvute himself entirely to writing, and has continued to produce a 
succession of stories which have given him a European reputation.] 


T was during the summer of 
r86i, when all Europe was 
stirred to indignation by the 
accounts of the terrible atro- 
cities committed by the Italian 
brigands, that, one morning 
towards the end of July, soon after sunrise, 
a mounted rifleman was riding through a 
lonely valley in the province of Capita nata. 
He had started from San in the 
night to take some message from his 
colonel to the commander of a marching 
regiment, and he now had this oftnvis 
answer hidden inside his tunic. The 
purport of the said answer was to the 
effect that at eight o'clock that same 
morning the regiment was going 
to make an expedition in search 
of a certain band of brigands 
said to tie hiding in some secret 
caves of the mountains. 

The messenger was a young 
man of some thirty years of 
age, tall and slight, with singu- 
larly intelligent eyes, pointed 
moustache, and that deep furrow 
between the eyebrows which is 
usually a sign of thoughtfulness. 
His general expression denoted 
a gravity beyond his years, and 
the large hat with pointed brim 
which he was wearing seemed 
to add to his somewhat melan- 
choly appearance. His erect 
bearing and his alert move- 
ments attested to his vigour 
and energy. He had put his 
horse to a trot, and was riding 

Vol. je.^4Ql 

along a winding pathway, looking first on one 
side of him and then on the other, gazing at the 
deserted pasturage, at the steep mountains, 
and the limpid sky, and hearing as he went 
along no other sound than that of his horse's 
feet and the clinking of his own sword. 
Suddenly, just as he was passing between 


Original from 



two high hedges, he saw a flash of fire and 
heard a detonation. He seized his pistols 
quickly and drew his horse up. The poor 
animal stumbled and fell, and at the same 
instant the soldier was himself seized by 
strong hands. A man had sprung out from 
amongst the bushes, followed quickly by a 
second, and then by a third. It was abso- 
lutely impossible either to parry the blows he 
received or to get his poor horse up. He 
himself was flung down on the ground in the 
struggle, and had only just time to fire at his 
adversaries, and during the volume of smoke 
which followed to crumple up the piece of 
paper he was carrying, and which contained 
the message, and put it in his mouth. 

In another minute the brigands had bound 
his hands behind his back and strapped on 
to his shoulders his sword, cloak, and the 
baggage he had been carrying on his horse's 
back. They next dragged the poor dead 
beast to the other side of the hedge, 
endeavouring thus to leave no trace of the 
struggle which had taken place, and then 
pushing their wretched prisoner on in front 
of them they continued their way, by turns 
threatening, mocking, or swearing at him. 

When they had walked for about half an 
hour across the fields, thinking that they 
were far enough off the beaten track not to 
run the risk of any surprise, they began to 
slacken their pace. They were just at the 
foot of the mountain, and there was no sign 
of any hut, cottage, or, indeed, any human 

The rifleman, bent though he was beneath 
the heavy load he was carrying, showed no 
sign of either fear or anger. His face was 
pale, but otherwise there was no change ; it 
was very evident that he had been perfectly 
prepared for any danger which might assail 
him on his perilous journey. 

To fall into the hands of brigands in those 
days of ferocious retaliations meant certain 
death. The solemnity of this last hour of 
his life stamped itself upon the prisoner, and 
anyone who had looked that moment into 
his eyes would have felt that death was surely 
hovering near him. The brigand who was 
walking in front of him turned round every 
now and then and glanced at him with an 
expression of curiosity and distrust, whilst the 
one who was walking side by side with him, 
and who appeared to be the captain of the 
band, would look now at his prisoner and 
now at his companions, with a gleam of 
triumph in his cruel eyes. 

" Stop a minute ! " he said, suddenly ; and 
then, hanging his gun over the shoulder of 

the rifleman, he continued, in a mocking 
tone : "Carry that for me." 

" Ah, yes ! and mine, too," said the second 
brigand, imitating his chief. 

" Why don't you give him yours ? " asked 
the captain, turning towards the third 
brigand, who was walking behind, and who 
looked younger than the others. 

11 I'd rather keep mine myself," he replied ; 
"one never knows whether one may need it." 

" Coward," muttered the chief, with a look 
of contempt ; and then, turning to the 
prisoner, and laying his hand on his shoulder, 
he said : " My friend, will you kindly tell us 
where you were going when we had the good 
fortune to make your acquaintance ? " 

There was no answer, and the brigand, 
gathering a stick from the hedge, gave the 
rifleman two or three sharp cuts across his 
fingers. This took no effect, however, and 
the brigand threw away his stick and said, 
with a laugh : — 

" Ah ! you'll speak before you've finished, 
poor wretch. Others have tried that on, before 
you, and you will probably do as they did in 
the end. You are made of flesh and blood, 
and when you are hurt you'll cry out, never 
fear ! " 

With this he pushed the poor fellow brutally 
along a path which led beside a stream. 
They then crossed a bridge, turned round by 
a grassy slope, and began to mount a steep, 
narrow, rocky path up the mountain. The 
rifleman was nearly strangled by the straps of 
the guns, his hands were tied behind him, 
and his uniform was so heavy that he was 
bathed in perspiration. As he continued 
the steep ascent he kept stumbling and 
nearly falling on his knees, and every time 
the brigands would strike or kick him, shout- 
ing, in their cruelty : — 

" Get on with you, idle dog ! When you 
happen to capture any of us you tie us to 
your horses ; so now it is your turn, my fine 
Piedmontese ! " 

Half-way up the mountain they halted, as 
they had arrived at their destination. In a 
certain spot where the rock had given way, 
and where huge blocks had rolled down 
and formed a kind of natural stronghold, 
was a hollow place, the rocky mountain 
forming a roof, and the brigands had made 
themselves here a hiding-place. They had 
filled up the gaps with huge stones and 
with bushes. Within the inclosure they had 
hollowed out niches to store their provisions, 
and they had also made some steps, from the 
top of which they had a view of the mountain 





The entrance to this hi